Getting Drawn In
by Haleine Delail
Summary: The Doctor & Martha aid a man with special abilities, who has been backed into a corner by someone with power, and no self-control. Their choice is impossible: which is worse, sexual assault or murder? A sequel to "Drawing Swords."
1. Chapter 1

**Well, friends, once more (at least) around the block with the Tenth Doctor and Martha Jones! Sorry for the longish absence of 10/Mar fics from me... I've been working on a "Good Omens" story that has well and truly dug under my skin! The muse was screaming at me to finish, and it hasn't been an easy feat.**

**Anyway, here we are. **

**This is a sequel to "Drawing Swords," in which a very artistically-talented autistic man named Curtis Malmay discovers that he is able to literally draw things and beings into existence! He learns, eventually, that this is a result of his unique brain chemistry, and a quirk of astrophysics. He causes havoc upon Leeds, where he has just moved with his brother Tim, by creating a dragon, and two opposing warriors, who destroy property, overwhelm the police force, cause an outcry for social justice, and land at least one human in hospital. And when UNIT gets in over its head with this insanity, who do they call? Yep - you guessed it. The Doctor ends up depositing all three beings on separate planets where he believes they can find a sense of belonging.**

**During the adventure, the illustrious UNIT Chief Medical Officer finds herself once again at the Doctor's side, and sees that his attitude toward her companionship has morphed somewhat. ;-)**

**If you have not read "Drawing Swords," obviously I'm going to recommend it! However, you shouldn't absolutely need it, in order to understand this story.**

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**I should probably insert a bit of a trigger warning here. Issues of sexual assault, the meaning of consent, the consequences for perpetrators, etc. are present in this story. If that's not something you feel you can handle, please don't go any further. I'll see you down the line in my next story. 3**

* * *

ONE

It had been the best, and the longest month of Martha Jones' life.

Also frustrating and titillating. Exciting, terrifying, occasionally subdued, all at once.

Actually, all of those words could have been used to describe her travelling partner as well.

Approximately four weeks ago, she had left her job at UNIT because the protocol, bureaucracy, compartmentalisation, et cetera, et cetera, had been too much for her. As someone who thought quite a bit outside the box, and who had had more "field" experience than all of the senior officers combined, UNIT's policies and procedures were just no longer something she could abide.

A debacle in Leeds with a dragon, and two heroic(ish) characters who looked as though they had just stepped out of a Dungeons and Dragons game, had been the tipping point. Her superiors wanted her to stay within her _area of expertise,_ which technically, was medicine. But, she also had experience with alien weaponry, astrophysics, espionage, negotiation, talking Time Lords out of doing stupid stuff, and saving planets, including, most notably, her own. But she'd gone all too often ignored within UNIT because she wasn't a soldier. They had tried to rush through the problem in Leeds, not understanding the nuance and finesse required to actually _solve_ the problem, instead of just sweeping it under a rug. And she'd had enough.

She had subsequently chosen to turn her attention and skills back to a life she had actually already left.

Well, sort of. _Chosen_ wasn't quite the right word.

He'd basically ambushed her as she was leaving UNIT for the last time.

"So, Dr. Jones," the Doctor had asked, after _luring_ her a bit unwittingly into the TARDIS and engaging her in a somewhat comical conversation in which they discussed the fact that Colonel Mace believed that Martha _worked for _the Doctor. "How would you like to come back and _not_ work for me?"

"I don't know if I can answer that question right now."

"Why not? You're unemployed, and we work _so well_ together… honestly, Martha, _so well._ It's like a well-oiled machine…"

"Doctor, I walked away two years ago for a reason," she argued, her voice betraying exhaustion.

He nodded. "I know. But I've already told you that I'm willing to start telling stories and stuff," he said, referring to a conversation they'd had during the previous day. "And I meant it."

"What stories are you going to tell?"

"Ones that I'm hoping will make you _want _to stay," he said. "Just… tell you what. I'm going to need help building devices that will let our Dungeons-and-Dragons-flavoured friends get in touch with me from their respective rescue planets. Two weeks. Give me that much time out of your life. Help me with this. And if you don't want to stay after that, then I won't stand in your way."

"If I stay for two weeks, then you'll tell me your stories," she said, arms crossed. "You'll start being honest, and you'll make me want to stay? Are you one hundred per-cent clear about why I left back then?"

"Yes."

"The part that _wasn't_ to do with my family?"

"Yes."

"So you know the thing that might – not will, _might_ – make me stay."

"I do."

"And you have to tell me in the form of… stories. You can't just say it? Like, ripping off a bandage?"

He looked at the floor, and shuffled his feet, then took a big breath, and let it out with deep exasperation. "Oh Martha... ugh, this is hard. You know me. You know I'm not the most communicative guy sometimes, and this… Martha, this is…"

"Okay, okay," she interrupted. She couldn't bear to watch him squirm that way. Clearly, whatever he was going to tell her, he needed two weeks to work up to it – he wasn't ready yet.

But she felt that the stories would be worth hearing.

* * *

And now, twenty-eight (or was it twenty-nine?) days had gone by. They had, indeed, worked out a way for their "Dungeons-and-Dragons-flavoured" friends to reach out to the Doctor. Their existence required maintenance, and there was a system in place, however, if anything went wrong, it was vital that they be able to communicate.

During that time, the Doctor had, indeed, told stories.

For example, the day they met, from Martha's point of view, had been exactly that: one day. She had passed out, and awakened in the back of an ambulance, where he caught her eye, waved goodbye and disappeared. That evening, he had turned up outside her brother's birthday party, and whisked her away from her sniping family, with the promise of "one trip," an adventure through time and space.

"I thought that you should know… actually, it was a couple of weeks," the Doctor said. "Not one day."

"Excuse me?"

"I carried you to the ambulance and left you there with the medics – reckoned you were in good hands – then handled a couple of questions from police, and when I saw you again, you were awake, so I waved goodbye and took off. When I left the planet, there was an almost immediate distress signal coming through on the console from Shin-Fang 13, because Shin-Fang 11 was attacking them and had been siphoning off their natural resources for months without their knowledge… and without their fossil fuels, they weren't able to fight back. So I went and scared the pants off the Elevens, but it took some doing. I was thinking, I wish I could be in two places at once, because the Elevens needed distracting while I rigged the Thirteens' explosives to maim but not kill."

"Yikes, Doctor," Martha said, holding her finger in place, where he had asked her to, whilst he welded something with an outer-space welding gun.

"The point is, I just kept thinking, blimey, I wish Martha Jones was here."

"Oh. Why?"

"I just thought you'd have been the perfect person for the job."

"Were there injuries?"

"No," he shrugged, blasting green fire into a small black communications tool.

"Ow!" she shrieked, pulling her hand away and shaking it.

"Sorry," he muttered. Then he grabbed her hand again, examined it, was satisfied that he hadn't actually _burned_ her, and put it back in place. "No, there were no injuries. I just thought you'd be perfect. That's all."

"Why?"

"Because you're clever. And cool in a crisis. And fast. And open-minded…"

"And hung on your every word?" she asked, with a smirk.

"That too," he chuckled, smirking back. "But honestly, there have been others who have _hung on my every word_, but I've never…"

He was silent for so long, that she looked up at his face. He was frowning while he worked.

"Never what?"

He sighed. "I've never quite felt _that _way about them."

"What way?"

"You know. Wanted them around me after one meeting. One and done, and then pined after them during life-and-death…" he cut himself off again, a bit embarrassed at having used the word _pined_. Though it was indicative of how he'd felt.

After leaving Martha off with the medics in the back of the ambulance, he'd felt an inexplicable, yet familiar, emptiness. He had been, of course, still reeling at the time from losing Rose, someone he genuinely loved, even though he hadn't fully realised it until she was gone. She was weighing heavily upon him, as was her absence. She had been an excellent companion – clever in a totally practical way, innocent, sprightly, and worshipped him.

He had to admit, that last bit didn't hurt at all. This particular face and body and personality seemed to invite that sort of thing, and though it was a new phenomenon, he wasn't hating it.

But suddenly, there was this other feeling: _wish Martha were here_. And he'd only met her once.

_Martha? Really?_

Yes, Martha.

"At first, it scared me," he continued, rather tight-jawed, tying off a group of wires and standing up, crossing the room for another tool. He crossed back, and sat again on the stool. He seemed to wind up for a few moments, and steel himself for what he was going to say. "I mean, first of all, I was already feeling… you know, icky and lovesick and pining after someone else. The last thing I needed was more of that in my life, especially if it was someone in whom I really had no particular investment."

"Sure," she said, shrugging. "I get that."

"Can you hold these two pieces together so I can wire them? You'll need both hands… like this."

Martha did as he showed her. He wired, he sonicked. And then he talked a bit more. It was not lost on Martha that stories like this tended to come out in moments when they didn't have to make eye-contact.

"But second of all," he said, and then he sighed. "Do you remember me telling you that you were not her replacement?"

"Vividly."

"It scared me because I wasn't ready to let go of her yet, and I could not fathom anyone else creeping into my consciousness, in a _wish she was here _sort of way. I wondered, why wasn't Rose the first person I thought of when I was dealing with Shin-Fang 11 and 13?"

"And what was the answer?"

"The answer was… I have no idea."

"Interesting."

"Afterwards, torturing myself over it, I also realised that at no point during my adventure in the hospital with you and the Judoon and Florence and the leather fetish guys, did I wish Rose were there. She only crossed my mind once, and it was only because you asked whether I had backup."

"Sorry. I didn't understand how personal a question that was, at that time. How loaded a question."

"I know - don't worry about it. The thing was, over the next few days, I decided that there was something dangerous about you. How could one woman, in one afternoon, have the power to eclipse two years' worth of a fairly intense relationship? Well, not eclipse completely, but… Martha, that debacle at Royal Hope was the first thing I'd ever found that could make me forget her for any length of time. And then, the Shin-Fang thing. And the only thing those two crises had in common, that previous crises did not, was you. I'd met you. I'd been thinking about you."

"And somehow, this made you… _not _want to see me again?"

"Yeah," he said, actually looking at her. "It was terrifying."

"I suppose I could see that."

He went back to wiring.

"A week went by, and more thoughts like this… I ruminated a lot. Thinking of her, thinking of you, and feeling guilty for having the two of you in my brain alongside each other."

"I know that one," she muttered. "I went through that with Tom, and you."

He chuckled, completely able to see what she meant. "I guess you must've." He paused, and continued, "And then, the worst happened."

"What?"

He stopped, and again, seemed to steel himself. "I had a dream about you."

"Oh!"

"Don't worry, it wasn't, you know… one of _those _dreams. That didn't start happening 'til a couple months later, after the Pentallian."

"What?"

He looked up at her with surprise, apparently, genuinely surprised he'd said that out loud.

"Oh, erm…" he began.

"Never mind. What was the first dream about?"

"It was about you walking on a beach," he sighed. "And if you had a window into my mind, and my particular angst at that time, you'd know how significant that was."

"A beach?"

"Yeah, just walking by yourself. Walking away from me. And I couldn't bear that you were getting farther and farther away, so I ran after you, but I couldn't run. It was like I was running in chest-deep water. I watched you go, and desperately tried to catch up, but it was all in vain. Eventually, you turned around and looked at me, and smiled sort of sweetly. And I realised, hardly for the first time, that…"

Again, he'd trailed off at a key moment, and Martha knew it was no coincidence. "You realised…?"

"That you're kind of stunning," he said, quietly.

There was a longish silence, before she whispered. "Thanks. So are you."

"But I felt, in that dream, like I was seeing your insides – all the things that had touched and stimulated my mind and hearts, right when I first met you. Just laid bare, right there. Your razor-sharp brain, and amazing kindness was showing. It was exposed to me, and it took my breath away." He put down the tools he was working with, and sat back on his stool, and just talked. "But all it was, was just… your face. Your smile. It touched my mind and hearts because the rest of you shone through when you looked at me, and I saw that all the parts of you are just this staggeringly beautiful package. I thought that perhaps I was witnessing a perfect human being. Just…"

"Doctor?"

"Is any of this true?"

He looked at her wearily. "Every word."

She took a deep breath, exhaled, and nodded.

He continued, "And over the next few days, I thought of Rose, yes. But you… you were there. You were in my mind. You were in my dreams, practically begging me to come and find you. I resisted as much as I could, but…"

"So you came to Leo's party."

"I did. I didn't know where you lived, and anyway reckoned it might be creepy if I turned up at your flat," he said. "So I went back to that day when we met, and I called around, to see if I could find out which restaurant had a booking for the Jones family, and a twenty-first birthday party."

"And that's not creepy?" she laughed.

"Well…"

She laughed a bit more. Then, "You know, for a guy who'd been having all that angst over the course of a couple of weeks, you were awfully cool."

"Cool is my M.O., don't you know that? Anyway, I didn't want to seem too keen," he shrugged. "And, I'd got it into my head that I could get you out of my system if I just took you on one trip. Just one more adventure with Martha Jones, to satisfy the urge. Well, you know how well that worked out."

She stared at the floor for a long few moments. "This explains a lot, Doctor."

"The flirting, following by the arm's length?"

"Yeah. As for example."

"I'd forget myself. I'd forget that you weren't a drug or a toy, sometimes, and I'd push you away a bit too harshly because I always got scared if I had you too far under my skin."

"Did you ever find a way to let me exist alongside Rose in your mind? Or become comfortable with the fact that I was there, and I could sometimes eclipse her?"

"No," he said. "Not until it was too late. I thought that much was obvious."

"I suppose it was," she said, then she chuckled a bit bitterly.

"What?"

"It's just interesting," she told him. "Not too long ago, I was talking with Tim Malmay about her, and how _she_ eclipsed _me_. He said she must've been bloody brilliant if she could do that."

"Well, Tim was sweet on you," he mused. "And _that_, Dr. Jones, is another story of my personal angst, but I'll save it for another day."

She smiled. "I think I already know that story. I saw it unfolding upon your face."

"I'll just bet you did," he said, staring at her, admiringly. Then his tone changed back to wistful, apologetic. "I suppose I so very badly _wanted _Rose to eclipse you, because it would have been an altogether much more comfortable state of affairs for me as a man, and frankly, as a sentient being who is supposed to know how these things work. So I forced her to. I manufactured a situation in which she eclipsed you, and let myself believe it, even though… well, the dreams."

"Will you tell me about those, someday?"

He smiled wearily again. "I'll have to have a couple of drinks first."

"Okay. For now, how about just a sandwich?"

"Perfect," he said. "I'm famished."

"Me too." She stood up and made to leave the room. "I'll use the intercom thingie, and let you know when it's ready."

* * *

There were more stories like this, as they worked on the contraptions. The Doctor was frank about the driving panic he felt as he watched her in the drifting space pod, as it floated away from the Pentallian, toward the sun. He discussed bringing her home out of the blue, and the sort of fear and tightly-coiled longing that caused it. He told her about how he'd wanted to give her a TARDIS key long before he finally did, and why it took him so long. He told her about the guilt and self-loathing he'd felt after the John Smith persona died, and he'd emerged from underneath it, with full memories of how he'd treated her. He tried to explain the loneliness of spending that year with the Master and her sister and parents, while she trekked around the world on his command, coupled with the constant fear of never seeing her again. And he tried his best to illustrate how he felt when she'd left. The emptiness, the despair, the regret, the ultimate confusion…

"So it must've been _really_ weird to have me and Rose in the same room," she chuckled, as they finished up on the second communication device.

He did not chuckle. "Weird doesn't even begin to describe it," he said, flatly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean…"

"It's all right. Martha, I don't want you to get me wrong," he said, screwing two metal casings together. "I've… I've never really stopped loving her."

"I can see that. Even now."

"But then, there's you. And I've never stopped feeling that either. That thing, whatever it is, that makes me want to see you, be around you, work with you, watch you fly."

She nodded. "I understand. I've been there. Remember, I've been engaged since the last time we travelled together."

"I suppose you do understand," he said. "I can't shake off any of it. Rose is… well, she's Rose. And I'm the Doctor. It's a thing – there's no way around it. It'll always be a thing. But more often than not, I think, _I wonder what Martha would do, if she were here_, and _damn it, I wish she were here._"

"Well, now I am," she said, tenderly, with a little smile.

"Are you?"

"Yes. Of course."

He swallowed hard, trying to force down a little sob of relief.

* * *

And one night, after a nice dinner and a few glasses of wine, they retired to the media room, ostensibly to turn on a film. But Martha, emboldened by the magic of Merlot, asked about the dreams.

And he described one of them to her. A bit more wine allowed him to do it in embarrassing detail.

He leaned his head back on the sofa. "In dreams, you see things… and though you've never actually seen them, you can't unsee them. You see?"

"Weirdly, I do."

"And there are things I can't unfeel."

"Like what?" she asked, shyly, breathlessly.

He looked at her, eyes glazed over with alcohol and… something else. "Ways that you touch me when you're just there, in my mind."

The frankness over the past weeks had been growing. The closeness, the honesty – it was all developing, as Martha's qualms fell away. This moment had been a long time coming, and in spite of the sudden heat that his words had brought about, it felt totally right. It was natural. It was time.

She leaned in. He leaned in. It was to be their second kiss ever, and this one would hold a promise, an agenda…

But they never got there. Because the TARDIS was jostled and they were both thrown to the floor, a split second before alarms began blaring, and the vessel was pulled off-course, off its trajectory, out of the vortex, and a materialisation was being forced, and the Doctor found he could not override it.

Even after he ran down the hall to the console room, he couldn't stop it.

She followed, of course. "What's causing it?"

"No idea!"

* * *

**Uh-oh! ****Yet another tender moment ruined by the TARDIS crashing into something! That crazy blue box!**

**Thoughts? Feelings? Wonderings? Leave a review!**

**Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**At the end of the previous chapter, the Doctor and Martha found themselves becoming closer, but were interrupted by the TARDIS being forced to land somewhere. Why? Well, let's find out! Enjoy!**

* * *

TWO

_Earlier that day…_

In a forgotten alcove of a building in a largely-forgotten council estate, in a not-terribly-well-known city in England, a man sat drawing, and his brother sat next to him. He was finishing up on some work that had been "commissioned" the previous day.

"What's that?" asked the brother.

"Sshh," said the man, drawing. He was particular about not being disturbed during his artistic process.

But the fact was, his particular artistic process was unlike that of anyone else on Earth.

"Is that a bucket?" asked the brother. "What's Mrs. Marais going to do with a bucket?"

"Sshh."

The brother watched the drawing and the shading, the bizarre process of something very mundane coming into being upon the page.

_Coming into being_, was a phrase that stuck in his mind just now. It was an apt phrase for what was happening.

The artist appeared to be drawing a patch of grass, with a wrought-iron fence behind it, and behind that, some bricks. On the grass there was, surely enough, an orange bucket – the only thing on the page with any colour – turned upside-down.

Hastily, the artist folded the page back and began working on a new drawing.

The brother had nothing to say – he just watched. Although, he did wonder what sort of thing was…

"Oh!" he said after a few minutes. "I get it! That's the inside of the upside-down bucket!"

"Mm," grunted the man doing the drawing.

Within another few minutes, a stack of paper (which turned out to be a bundle of one-hundred-pound notes) appeared on the page, on top of a bit more grass.

When he was done, the artist wrote at the bottom of the page, "Miraculously, no-one noticed the bucket except for the eagle-eyed Mrs. Marais!"

"There, that's done," said Curtis Malmay, as he finished his drawing. "Jessica's late."

"Yes, she is," said his brother, Tim, checking his watch. "But you know how her boss is – probably made her stay after and refill the bloody salt-shakers or something."

"What d'you reckon she wants?"

"I'm guessing it'll be something to do with her boyfriend again," Tim sighed. "You know, we have to start turning her down for those… it's not really fair to draw the boyfriend without his knowing about it. It's kind of creepy."

"Why?"

"You know why, Curtis," Tim said, sighing. "It's like we're controlling people."

"We do it all the time."

"No, we don't," Tim snapped. "We do it… occasionally. And we should stop. We have rules… _no manipulating people_ should be one of them."

"Oi, Malmay," said a voice, coming into the forgotten alcove. It was that of a short, portly man wearing a Manchester United polo shirt that was about eight inches too long for him, and a pair of running pants, that had never seen a "run" in their entire existence. "Hoped I'd find you here."

Tim stood up from the rickety folding chair upon which he'd been sitting. He held a hand out, and pressed it against the man's chest, without pushing. "No, Beaman," he said. "No more."

"Why, 'cause I've been _blacklisted_?" asked the amused Beaman.

"Yeah, that's right," Tim said. "Now go away."

"Come on! Just let me talk to your brother," Beaman begged.

"No! You're an arsehole, and we have rules."

"Fine," said the rotund man. "I'll just come round your flat when you're not there. Talk to him on his own."

"He's never _on his own,_ Beaman, you know that," Tim said to him as he walked away. He turned and sat back down in the alcove, on the rickety folding chair, beside his brother.

Curtis had shut his sketchbook and replaced his pencils in their pouch. His fingers were now drumming and scratching upon the cover, and his feet were tapping.

"Itching to draw something else?" Tim asked.

Curtis pulled up the hood of the red sweatshirt that he almost always wore, and nodded.

"Just a bit longer," Tim said, patting Curtis' hand. "When Jessica gets here, she'll have something for you. And if not, then, we'll go home and eat something... _recommended_, and you can draw to your heart's content.

Curtis nodded again, but his fingers continued to drum.

When Tim had told Beaman that Curtis was _never on his own_, he had not been exaggerating. This was because Curtis Malmay was not an average twenty-five-year-old man. He was autistic, wicked talented, and had a secret… a secret that was not-so-secret anymore.

His not-so-secret was that whatever he drew became _real._ It was a special power of his, that he had discovered about one month prior, when he'd drawn a dragon atop the Leeds City Museum… and an actual dragon had appeared on the roof of the Leeds City Museum. He had also drawn a couple of medieval-fantasy-flavoured characters, which had wrought havoc upon the city, and their lives.

Fortunately, when the spit had hit the fan, they had had help. First UNIT appeared in Leeds to deal with the dragon, because frankly, the local police didn't know what the hell to do. And when UNIT gets out of its depth?

Well, that's when they'd met _him_. The man in the suit. The man in the blue box. The total enigma of a humanoid who seemed to know everything, and be able to solve everything, and finesse everything, and convince anyone of anything and…

…and his companion, the brilliant and beautiful Dr. Jones, who was much more normal. But no less fascinating, as it turned out.

They had been able to explain to Curtis and Tim _why_ he had the power to make his drawings manifest, and give him the tools to control it.

What the Doctor and Martha had _not_ been able to do was arrange for Tim a steady income – not that he had expected them to. Just after moving to Leeds, following the promise of a job, he'd lost that prospect, and was back to square-one, almost totally broke, with a brother to support, living in a new town, unable to afford to move back home.

At that time, they had begun experimenting with foods that would help mitigate some of the symptoms of Curtis' autism, which would also mitigate his ability to manifest whatever he drew. His more moderated behaviour had caused Tim to wonder whether they could also experiment with leaving Curtis alone for longer periods.

So, one day, about a week after Tim was made redundant, while he was out, as they say, _pounding the pavement_, Curtis remained at home, with no supervision. For eight hours. When Tim came home that day, he asked a hundred questions, but the only thing he'd been able to glean was that Curtis had taken a walk around the estate, and had a conversation with Olive Marais, a woman of about sixty, who lived in the estate, in the next building over. Curtis would not say what they'd discussed.

A couple of days later, Curtis handed a ten-pound note to Tim, and said, "Here. For groceries."

"Where did you get this?"

Curtis had pulled up his hood and sat down on the sofa then, shrugging.

"Curtis, tell me. Where did you get this?"

The more Tim pressed, the less Curtis would say, and the more nervous he became.

Eventually he was shaking his head over and over again and repeating, "Can't tell you, can't tell you."

Tim sighed, seeing plainly that his brother had stopped eating the foods that would help his symptoms, and could also see that if he pushed any harder, there might be a meltdown. Clearly, whatever had produced this ten pounds was something that bothered Curtis.

But the next day, he had twenty pounds.

The third day, he had another twenty.

It wasn't much, but it got the two of them through the week on groceries and electricity.

The fourth day, Tim only pretended to go job-hunting. Instead, he waited around the corner, and followed Curtis when he left the flat. This was how he discovered that Curtis had been meeting people from the estate in the alcove, doing favours for them by using his special skill, and charging ten pounds each time.

Mrs. Marais had only wanted a smart new dress, because she had recently also lost her job which she'd been doing for twenty years. It had been ages since she'd had to do a job interview, and she didn't have any nice clothes that fit… and could not afford to buy new ones. At least, not of the sort that were bound to get a sixty-year-old woman hired somewhere nice.

Curtis had drawn a navy-blue, button-up dress on her, tea-length, with a white collar and nice shoes, and had given the drawing a caption that said, "Mrs. Marais looks smart in cashmere." And _voilà_, she'd paid ten pounds for a cashmere dress that was bound to bowl over whoever interviewed her next.

Four others on the estate had found out about Curtis' talent, and had asked for small favours, which he had obliged.

At first, Tim berated him for exploiting people, abusing his gift, and asked him, "What would Dr. Jones say about this?"

This question had temporarily cowed Curtis into agreeing to stop, because he knew that Martha Jones, formerly the Chief Medical Officer of UNIT, would disapprove. He did not wish to do anything to displease her, so he refrained.

Tim subsequently got a job, but the pay was not enough for rent, utilities, groceries, transportation, plus other unforeseen needs, like new shoes, a new phone (after Tim's was stolen out of his jacket at work), and a takeaway dinner when their power was out.

Abusing Curtis' gift, just a little bit, began to seem mightily attractive.

* * *

Now, a month or so had passed, and Tim and Curtis had been, reluctantly, supplementing their income with this little endeavour. They met with people by appointment only, in the alcove. They never explained _how _it worked, and always reserved the right to deny requests. They helped only people who asked for small things – such as a nice dress, or in the case of the orange bucket, eight hundred pounds for veterinary bills – and "blacklisted" anyone who repeatedly asked for too much. Dorian Beaman had asked for five million pounds on his first visit, and when he was denied, he'd got belligerent. They had allowed him back, and he'd asked for a car, again, becoming belligerent when denied. After that, they never even listened to him,

Well, Tim never listened to him. Curtis, left to his own devices, would have been much less vigilant about vetting "clients," mostly because he didn't see the big-picture of consequences as his brother could, and so all requests went through Tim. He wanted to maintain some semblance of safety and integrity in this bizarre venture, and Curtis was not great at seeing nuance. At all.

After Mrs. Marais' dress, word had got out in her building, then around the whole estate. And then to neighbouring estates. Tim always asked for ID, and so far, everyone they had seen had come from council flats – poor working folks, just like them, who just needed a hand. For ten pounds.

Jessica was forty minutes late that day, and asked Curtis to do something to give her a break from her boss, the restaurant manager, Nigel Bishop. Just for a while. The three of them discussed the ethics of possibly drawing him on a beach in Spain, but that seemed too much. Then they talked about having him meet a woman, so he would just be a little nicer.

Curtis wound up drawing a document stating that Nige has two weeks' paid time-off time coming, which he needed to take ASAP, on the desk of someone high-up in the company the owned the restaurant.

"Are you sure _you _don't want the paid time off?" Tim asked.

"I'm sure. I'm hoping he's in a good mood for a while, after he comes back from holiday. Maybe get more mileage out of that two weeks," she shrugged. "Besides, I've already marked out five days off at Christmas. Can't do both, or someone might get suspicious, starting with Nige."

Tim agreed, this was probably just a bit wiser, Jessica handed over her ten pounds with a smile, and left.

Curtis packed up his supplies, and Tim folded up the chairs, putting them back exactly in the haphazard way they'd been leaning against the wall for years, and they made to leave the alcove.

But they were stopped.

"Hello, there," said the man. "How are we today, gentlemen?" He had a non-local accent – sounded more like a Londoner.

"Erm, hi," Tim said. When the man simply blocked their way, Tim said, "Mind letting us through?"

"Yeah I do," said the man. "I need a word."

"We _have words_ by appointment only," Tim said. "If you'd like to come back…"

"My employer thought you might say that, so here's a little retainer," said the man, and he produced a one-hundred-pound note out of his pocket.

He was wearing a black suit, and a black tie, and it seemed fairly obvious that he was part of someone's security detail. He was a brick wall of a person, and had slicked-down, jet-black hair. All in all, he had the air of someone who was not to be trifled with.

And yet, Tim said, "I don't want your money."

The man reached forward and pulled open the zippered pocket of Tim's green jacket, and shoved the note in.

"My employer is running late, so he asked me to hold you here. He wants to see you personally."

"Who is your employer?" asked Tim.

"Best not say," said the man. "The walls have ears."

Tim and Curtis both frowned and looked about. "No they don't," Tim scoffed. "Not _these _walls. Have you seen where you are?"

The man smiled sardonically, and simply said, "We'll wait."

* * *

Twenty minutes passed, Tim and Curtis having sat back down in the alcove, basically imprisoned, as the thug would not let them leave.

Eventually, the man said, "He's here," and disappeared from the archway. Tim and Curtis peered out to where he'd gone, and spied a large black, shiny, expensive car that had just pulled up to the kerb. The man in the suit opened a door, and another man stepped out. This man was younger, and was wearing more casual clothes – a trendy-brand tee-shirt, and designer jeans – and had the swagger of someone who owned the universe. He looked about the estate with disgust, and then his eyes fixed upon Tim and Curtis.

"Oh, shit," Tim spat, with more intensity than he'd meant, but less than he felt.

"What? Who is that?"

"That's Daniel Edge," said Tim.

"Who is Daniel Edge?"

"You know… the Edge family."

"Who's the Edge family?"

Tim sighed, exasperated. "Rich family. Super rich. They own hotels, casinos, a restaurant chain, a clothing line… you know! The Edge family!"

"Oh. What's he want with us?"

"I don't know," Tim said darkly. "What _can't_ he buy, that he wants badly enough to come _here _for?"

* * *

Curtis had gone off to his room to sleep.

The encounter with Daniel Edge had made Curtis decidedly nervous, and the tension of it threatened to put his control on its own edge.

Curtis had his reasons for wanting to comply with Edge's request, but Tim had been very firm that he _could not_ do so, also realising that the subtleties of the whole situation might be lost on Curtis, just by its very nature. It had ended in confusion, tears, and a full-blown meltdown that Tim was powerless to stop, because he, himself, felt a bit like melting down. Exhaustion ensued then, and Curtis had eventually dragged himself off to bed, still in tears.

He'd never let Curtis see him doing so, but he now paced back and forth between the tartan sofa and T.V., and he wrung his hands. He felt totally buggered. He not only had to work out what to do about the Edge problem, but also had to keep Curtis unwound, and guide _him_ through working out the right thing to do.

Tim wasn't much of a drinker, but this evening, he wished he had some alcohol in the house. Calming down using booze was another thing he'd never let Curtis see him do, but Curtis was asleep, likely for the next twelve to sixteen hours, after the shock he'd had. In the absence of anything stronger, he decided to do the most thoroughly British thing he could think of: attempt to assuage his nerves with tea.

He stood in the kitchen staring at the kettle, waiting for it to boil.

And as he did, he heard a noise.

It was a familiar noise. Otherworldly. And awfully, awfully close.

A high wind suddenly began to displace everything in the flat, as though a small tornado were ripping through. Tim cursed, trying to grab a pile of bills out of the air, that were now swirling about the kitchen like dry leaves in a gale.

He looked through the little window into the parlour, and there it was, seemingly blinking in and out of existence. A blue box. Transparent. Bizarre. Bigger on the inside.

"Oh, Curtis, you didn't!" Tim groaned.

"Well, I didn't know what else to do!" Curtis whined, emerging from the hallway. "She can help us!"

Tim sighed, realising that his brother must have drawn a picture of the TARDIS manifesting in their living room, just so that he could ask Martha Jones what to do about Daniel Edge.

And as much as he was about to be embarrassed when the good doctor and her Time Lord companion stepped out of the vessel, he was secretly glad that Curtis had taken things to extremes this time. Because who the hell else could give them advice on how to fix something this bloody weird?

* * *

**So... if you're reading, please review! Let me know you're out there!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, so, what do we know?**

**We know that the Doctor and Martha have been growing closer over the past month, and something very new is on the verge of happening!**

**We know that Curtis Malmay and his brother Tim have been using the former's special talent to bring in some extra funds, to make ends meet.**

**We know that the brothers have had a meetings with Daniel Edge, who has made a request, flummoxing Curtis enough to "summon" the TARDIS to their living room, to ask Martha's advice (and the Doctor, if he's got the time).**

**What was the request? Oh boy. Here we go! Enjoy!**

**P.S. Sheena, check your PMs!**

* * *

THREE

When the TARDIS stopped, in its forced-materialisation, the console room seemed eerily quiet. Both the Doctor and Martha had been hanging onto the console's rim for dear life, and now they both slowly let go.

"Okay… so…" Martha said, tentatively. "Where the hell are we?"

The Doctor, a bit shocked, checked out the screen. "Leeds."

"Leeds?"

"Leeds," he repeated.

"Again?"

"Apparently."

"Why?"

He looked at her sideways. "I think we got drawn in."

She chuckled rather sarcastically, but his pun did help her realise why they'd been forced to materialise.

That was when they heard a knock on the door.

"Dr. Jones? Are you in there?"

It was the voice of Curtis Malmay, characteristically choosing to ignore the Doctor's presence (as he "didn't believe" in the Doctor, and somehow saw him as a _Deus Ex Machina _construct of The Establishment).

Martha walked down the ramp, and opened the door. To her surprise, they weren't just in Leeds, they were actually right in the Malmays' parlour, in their estate flat.

"Whoa," she said, looking about. She stepped out of the TARDIS – it was more than a little cramped. The blue box took up about half of the parlour itself, and had displaced the sofa, coffee table, and television stand. They were all sitting askew, making the room even more cramped.

"Hi Martha," Tim said, from off to the right, sighing. "Nice to see you. Sorry to draw you in like this."

The Doctor followed Martha out of the TARDIS then, and declared, "Too late, Tim. I've already made that joke."

"Damn, I thought I was being so clever," Tim chuckled.

"Stop messing about," Curtis scolded, tossing his sketch book onto the coffee table, showing a drawing of the TARDIS parked beside their tartan sofa, and a caption that specified their address. "We have a crisis on our hands!"

"A crisis," Martha said, nodding. "Right. What sort of crisis, Curtis?"

"Actually, it's not really a crisis," Tim said, on behalf of his brother. "Well, it sort of is, in that, we feel a bit buggered – pardon my language. But obviously, Curtis felt the need to call you. Not _call _you, actually, but…"

"Tim, Tim," the Doctor said. "It's okay. Why are we here? What's the crisis?"

"I mean, I suppose we _could _have worked it out on our own, but Curtis felt that you – well, mostly Martha – would have the best advice to impart. Although, it's not really an outer-space problem, or a time travel problem, or a science-fiction problem. It's more of a human problem."

The Doctor shrugged. "I like human problems."

Curtis gave the Doctor a bit of an annoyed glance, then said, "Well, it all started this afternoon when Daniel Edge came to visit."

Martha's eyebrows lifted. "Daniel Edge? _The _Daniel Edge? Son of Franklin Edge?"

"Who's Franklin Edge?" the Doctor wondered.

"He's a… mogul. Billionaire. Owner of the Cutting Edge Hotel chain, a couple of Blackpool casinos… I think his wife has her own clothing line, too," Martha explained. "A lot of drunken brawls and wardrobe malfunctions. The whole family is poorly-behaved tabloid fodder."

The Doctor made an odd noise and did a little shudder.

"Yes, yes," Tim sighed. "But that's not actually where it starts. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you some back story."

"Okay," she said, inching her way past the TARDIS, over the coffee table, and to the sofa. She sat down on the middle cushion, and the Doctor sat on her left. "What's going on?"

Tim sat down on the remaining cushion on Martha's right, and for a while, he said nothing. Curtis watched him, a bit disturbed, and eventually sat down on the floor across from his brother, just searching Tim's face for signs of being okay.

Tim eventually buried his face in his hands, and muttered, "Oh, Martha, Doctor, I've really fucked up."

"How?" she asked.

He sat up straight and looked her in the eyes. "Don't kill me, okay?"

"Okay."

He leaned forward a bit and caught the Doctor's eye. "You either."

"Erm…"

Tim said, "A day or two after the last time you saw us, I lost my job."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Martha mused.

"We had moved here from Kent solely for that job. We gave up everything for the promise of something new for me, and in the blink of an eye, it was gone."

"And you couldn't move back home?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Moving costs money. Not to mention the cost of uprooting Curtis again."

"I see," she whispered.

"I thought maybe you'd do the social worker thing," the Doctor commented.

Martha didn't look at him, but reached over and grabbed his arm, in a way that suggested to him that he should keep his mouth shut. He supposed that this was one of those _human_ things, the subtleties of which he didn't fully understand.

Fortunately, Tim smiled. "I would still like to. But it's easier said than done. I've got to make ends meet in the here and now."

The Doctor would have liked to say, "Well it's something to shoot for, at least." But Martha continued to grasp his forearm, and squeezed even tighter, and Curtis was frowning at him… again. So he just nodded, and said nothing.

"Anyway, I do have a new job now, but the pay is absolute rubbish – almost not enough to keep us in a council flat," Tim admitted, looking around at his living space, sighing. "Needless to say, we've been hurting for cash for a few weeks. It's not like we have great reserves of savings waiting in the wings."

"So I helped," Curtis said. "Which is… bad. I think."

Tim looked at his brother fondly. "It's all right mate. You did the best you could."

"How did Curtis help?" Martha asked.

"One day while I was out searching for work, Curtis ran into one of our neighbours, who happened to mention to him that she had also lost her job, and wasn't having any luck with the interview process. She told him she thought that some posher interview clothing would help her seem more professional, and less like a sixty-year-old chav from a council estate."

"You drew her a new outfit, didn't you?" the Doctor asked Curtis.

In spite of Curtis' insistence that he did not answer to the Doctor, he bowed his head. Though, he neither confirmed nor denied the Doctor's suspicion.

"He did," Tim said. "And he charged her ten pounds. She got the very next job she interviewed for."

"And then she told everyone," the Doctor said.

Tim nodded. "I wanted to give her back her ten pounds, but… damn it, we needed groceries. Not even the stuff you told us to eat, to help control Curtis' power, but just… anything! We didn't have bread or pasta or anything, and…"

"It's all right, we understand," Martha told him, momentarily pressing her hand against his.

Truth be told, Martha was quite conscious of how she acted with Tim, how physically close she got to him, how she looked at him. She had, thus far, resisted the urge to touch him reassuringly – pat him on the back, rub his arm, give him a hug. She knew it was daft, but she also knew that Tim quite fancied her, and she wasn't entirely sure how much – and she didn't know him well. The Doctor had implied not long ago that this was a disturbing state of affairs for him, so she wanted to leave no windows open.

"And when I didn't get a job straight away, and Curtis kept bringing home ten-pound notes…" Tim continued.

The Doctor groaned. "Oh, Curtis. You aren't seriously doing this. Please tell me you're not."

"Don't blame him, Doctor," Tim begged. "He doesn't know any better. He doesn't understand – at least he didn't until today – how things can get out of hand. His view of it has been quite straightforward – as is his view of most things, frankly."

"Yeah, I get that," the Doctor said, very softly. "Sorry."

"People need help, he can provide it. We need money, he's providing a service – simple as that," Tim said, again, on Curtis' behalf. "I'm the one who understands, and I've been letting it happen. Spearheading it, in fact."

The Doctor sat forward on the sofa and addressed the man sitting on the floor, knowing full well that Curtis was not his biggest fan. He spoke as gently as he could, aware that being condescending could hurt their relationship further. "Curtis, people are greedy. And selfish. And stubborn…"

"We do have rules, Doctor," Tim told him. "For example, we only entertain requests from people who live in estates nearby. We only provide small things – preferably material things that aren't worth tonnes of money, and we definitely don't provide tonnes of money. We've blacklisted people for asking too much."

"Okay, so you've thought some of it through," the Doctor said. "But Daniel Edge threw the whole system out-of-whack, didn't he?"

"He did," Tim sighed.

"What does he want?" Martha wondered.

Tim pulled a photograph out of his jacket pocket. It was the image of an attractive young woman with straight reddish-blonde hair, and a bright, wide smile. She had large blue eyes, a button nose, and was objectively adorable. Martha put her at twenty years old in the photo, given her look, and the fact that she was wearing a sweatshirt from Middlesex University.

Tim handed the photo to Martha and said. "Her. He wants her."

Martha took the photo, and her eyebrows went up. "Oh. Oh my God."

A sickening feeling welled up in her stomach just then, and did not abate. She stared at the photo, and said nothing else, as her brain became embroiled in multiple scenarios – none of them pleasant.

The Doctor had a nonplussed, crooked look on his face, and he reached out and took the photo from Martha, and studied it. Martha's hands fell into her lap, as she contemplated the horrifying jam the Malmays (and now she and the Doctor) were in.

"Who is she?" the Doctor asked, handing the picture back to Tim, who tucked it in his pocket, avoiding looking at it as though it were a gruesome crime scene photo, and not the image of a beautiful girl.

"Her name is Stephanie Havilland," Tim sighed. "Student at Middlesex, aged twenty-one. Edge has been pursuing her, and she's turned him down flat. Repeatedly."

"Is that what's special about her?" the Doctor inquired. "I mean, she's pretty, but there are a lot of pretty girls out there, perhaps much more willing to take up with a guy with money."

Tim shrugged, looking miserable. "Dunno. Didn't ask why. I just listened while he talked. And dictated to us what to do. And how to do it. And what would happen if we didn't."

"Let me guess," the Doctor said. "He offered you more money than you've ever seen in your life – or ever would see in a few lifetimes of repairing heating units – and threatened to do something horrible if you don't comply. Or rather, if Curtis doesn't."

"Yep," Tim confirmed, looking defeated. "He gave us two thousand pounds as a deposit." He then took an envelope out of another jacket pocket, and threw it on the coffee table. It was fat with cash.

"And he said he'd pay all of our debts and make it so that Tim never has to work again," Curtis added, given a lull in the conversation.

"And what if you don't do it?" the Doctor asked.

"He implied that he'd have Curtis' hands irreparably broken," Tim said. "So he couldn't draw anymore. He also vaguely threatened to have Stephanie Havilland killed."

"So… if he can't have her, he'd rather she be dead?" the Doctor asked.

"Apparently."

There was a long lull, then the Doctor asked, "What is he asking for, specifically?"

"He wants Curtis to draw a picture of Stephanie and himself… erm… doing things that… erm…"

"Okay, I get it," the Doctor sighed. "Wow, so, not even having a romantic dinner together, eh? No portraits of them enjoying the beach, or catching a show?"

"Nope."

"So, he's planning on using an unfair and irresistible prowess to compel someone into sex."

"Yep," Tim confirmed, again.

"Yeah, there's a word for that," the Doctor muttered.

"We know," Tim said. Then, he added, "Weirdly, though, he was very adamant that the sex be consensual."

"Hunh," the Doctor mused. "Doesn't want to commit rape, but has no problem having her killed?"

Martha chimed in for the first time in a few minutes. "No. He doesn't want to be _accused_ of rape, because there is the risk of bad publicity, and jail time. The act itself, he doesn't care about. If he did, he wouldn't have come to Curtis. Because there is absolutely no way to make this consensual."

"And therein lies the problem," Tim said.

"Curtis, do you understand why you cannot do this?" Martha asked.

"Sort of," Curtis said. "Yes. Tim has been explaining it to me, but… she could die."

"Again, therein lies the problem," Tim repeated.

"So, you understand what rape is?" Martha asked him.

Curtis looked at Tim for help.

"He does," Tim said. "In a simplistic sense. I've been trying to speak to him about the subtleties of it, and how it's not always just attacking someone in a dark alley and forcing them to the ground with a knife."

"Do you know what _consent_ means?" Martha asked Curtis.

"It's when someone gives permission," he said.

"Yes. And do you understand how that's related to sex, and rape, and what's happening here?" she wondered.

Again, he looked at his brother.

"We're getting there," Tim sighed. "Meantime, he's agreed not to draw anything until we can work out what to do."

"Good," Martha said. "Because I get that you want to save her life, and save your hands and whatnot. That's totally understandable. But Curtis, if you draw that picture, even if you write a caption that says _consensual_ on it, it will be rape."

Curtis put up his hood and crossed his arms over his chest.

Martha looked at the Doctor. She didn't know if they were thinking the same thing, but she did know that she was the only woman in the room, and it was probably on her to float the harder revelations about the nature of consent, and the power that Curtis had. She was also aware that if the Doctor said what she was about to say, Curtis might very well shut off completely.

"And Curtis, you need to know something," she said, as gently as she could. "If you do this, it won't just be Daniel Edge raping her. It will be you, too."

Curtis covered his head with his arms, and buried his face, pulling his knees up, attempting to disappear.

* * *

**Some hard questions. I'll just leave it there.**

**Please leave a review, as it would make my day! Thank you for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**This story has been slow coming... for me, and as a result, for you. I'm still story-mapping, changing my mind about things, which means I need to make adjustments as I go.**

**More than anything, I am trying not to give you a Deus ex Machina ending! And of course, there's the handling of social issues (autism, sexual assault), character development - not making anyone, including Daniel Edge, seem one-dimensional - and interweaving the *drumroll* SHIPPITY SHIP. I always try to proceed with care, and this is no different. I feel a bit ham-fisted at the moment with writing Doctor Who and I have my reasons... **

**But I also have plenty of reason to press forward, so on with the show!**

* * *

**When last we saw our heroes, they were talking with Curtis about the nuances of sexual assault and consent, but as a person with non-typical worldview, Curtis is having a hard time with it. Which reminds me, thank you, Sheena, for your valuable input. I've learned a great deal from you in this journey with Curtis!**

**Thanks, everyone. Enjoy!**

* * *

FOUR

Martha and the Doctor invited Tim into the TARDIS for dinner, though they had already eaten, just prior to their forced landing in the Malmay parlour. It was a good excuse to sit down and hash things out, so the three of them partook of some frozen pizza, whatever frozen vegetables they found, and when offered some wine, Tim did not hesitate. The TARDIS-dwellers, however, picked at their food, and poured wine for themselves only so that Tim would not feel alone.

Curtis, on the other hand, chose to skip eating and go back to bed. Tim could quite clearly see him suffering under the stress of the situation, especially with not completely understanding the subtleties of why it was, in fact, such a horrible situation. Curtis simply wanted to save the girl's life, and was keen just to draw the picture. But, the fact that _Tim_ felt there was more to it was not lost on him, and so Curtis believed that there was, indeed, more to it, even though his own grasp of the nuances of their dilemma was not fully-formed.

"You've never spoken to him about consent?" Martha asked over pizza, trying her best to sound non-accusatory. "It seems like someone such as Curtis, someone whose perception of the world differs from that of others, would need to be warned."

"I probably should have done," Tim said, miserably. "But he's never shown the slightest interest in anyone of the opposite sex – or the same sex, for that matter – except in an intellectual way. Sex isn't really on his radar, so it's never come up."

"Really? Never? He's never stumbled across internet porn, or talked about fancying Angelina Jolie, or something?" Martha wondered.

Tim shook his head. "The porn thing… I don't know for sure, but Curtis isn't exactly great at keeping secrets, or his feelings to himself. Something like that can be a bit traumatic to see for the first time – I feel like if he'd seen it, I'd know. And he's never mentioned finding anyone attractive, except maybe to admire their skill. And he talks the same way about Neil DeGrasse Tyson as he does about Keira Knightley – both people he admires for being good at what they do."

"That's fair enough," the Doctor commented, rather mumbling to himself as he swirled wine around in the glass, without drinking it.

"Although, when he created a female character, she was hyper-sexualised," Martha reminded Tim. "Busty, scantily-clad, pouty lips, luxurious red hair…"

"True, but I think he was mimicking what other artists have done, more than he was drawing in response to his own desires or whatever," Tim said. "I know it sounds like I'm idealising my brother…"

"Or, infantilising him?" Martha offered.

Tim continued, "Maybe. But don't forget, that character was created to be stronger and wiser than any of her male counterparts or adversaries."

"Men seeing a woman as fierce and strong does not preclude them from also seeing her as a sex object," she said.

Both men broke eye-contact with her at that moment, if only temporarily. Fortunately, she didn't really register it.

She continued. "In fact, sometimes ferocity and strength provide just as much wank-fodder in the modern world as a nice arse."

"Very cynical, Dr. Jones," the Doctor muttered.

"Don't get me wrong," she said to the pair of them. "It's all normal. Women see men the same way. Humans are sexual beings – as are Time Lords, as the case may be – and if we didn't sexualise each other, life on this planet, and a lot of others, would literally just… fizzle out. And being sexually attracted to someone because of the fact that they're a badass is absolutely legitimate… and definitely better than devaluing those characteristics in favour of only the physical."

"Okay. Thank you," the Doctor said, with a smirk.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have used the phrase _wank-fodder,_" she chuckled. "All I'm trying to say is that Tim shouldn't discount Curtis' interest in sex, just because he didn't create his character as a damsel in distress and/or just because he puts Keira Knightley on the same tier as Neil DeGrasse Tyson."

"Granted," said Tim.

"And therefore, we shouldn't discount Curtis' ability to understand what's going on here, or to understand sexual politics in the future, as his life unfolds," Martha said. She suddenly realised she sounded a bit preachy, so she added, "Not that it's my place to tell you how to relate to your brother."

"I hear you. I'm just going on what I've seen, what I feel in my gut to be true of my brother, whom I've known all my life, and whom I've cared for basically full-time since I was seventeen years old."

"_Touché,"_ Martha said. "Your gut-level intuition is not to be scoffed-at, Tim."

Tim sighed. "Thanks. You know, to be honest, you say what you will about his female warrior, but I've personally never really seen concrete evidence that he views men and women as different in any way… except maybe biologically. Which actually doesn't say much about anything, does it? Except that he's maybe a lot cleverer than most people. But do you remember when I said to you that if Curtis were more of an averages sort of bloke, he'd probably really fancy you?"

"Yeah," Martha said, sheepishly. Now it was her turn to break eye-contact. This had been a revelation that had come just before Tim confessed to rather fancying her himself, not a topic she particularly cared to revisit.

"Well, actually, I think he does fancy you, in his way. In fact, Doctor, I think that is a pretty big factor in why he basically ignores everything you say," Tim sighed. "He sees your relationship with Martha as something he'd quite like to have – the travel, the problem-solving, the being-clever-together bit. He probably doesn't realise it, but I would guess that it's more to do with _that _than him thinking you're a fake. Which he really doesn't. Not deep down."

"It's all right, I've never taken it personally," the Doctor said, waving away Tim's concern. Then he frowned, and complated for a moment. He muttered, "Although... perhaps I should."

"So when I said that, Martha, I suppose I meant that, he's interested in you, without a doubt. But it's not the sort of interest that you'd expect a twenty-five-year-old man to have in… you. I think it might be something akin to romantic – whatever that might mean in Curtis' mind – but not sexual. Like, maybe, marrying you has crossed his mind, but having sex with you has not."

Martha sighed. "I have absolutely no idea what to do with that." And briefly, she thought of how sad it was that she didn't know how to respond to the idea of someone who is romantically, but not sexually, interested in her. Did that make _her_ an unfortunate victim of some sort of demeaning social construct, or was it more evidence of how atypical Curtis' interaction with the world really was?

Perhaps a bit of both. Perhaps neither. The thoughts were unconscious anyhow, and the conversation took precedence.

"It just means, sexual dynamics aren't on his radar," Tim explained. "At least, I've been operating more or less under the assumption that it's not on his radar. Until today, that is. This conversation has made me think a bit harder."

"Well, I suppose if you've just been waiting for the right moment to mention consent," the Doctor said. "You've finally found it."

* * *

And, they discussed further details of the Daniel Edge problem they faced.

"He's given us three days to deliver," Tim said, finishing his third slice of pizza.

"So, he wants the picture done by Thursday?" Martha asked.

"Yes."

"Well, at least that gives us a time-frame to work with," the Doctor said. "I always do better with a deadline."

"Sorry, but why didn't he just demand it now?" Martha wondered.

"We told him we had several drawings all backed-up in a queue, and that it takes half a day to produce a fully-coloured piece, especially with human figures in it," Tim answered. "He argued that we could ignore everyone we had in line because he could give us so much money, but I said a man's got to honour a business arrangement, and he went for that."

"Weird," the Doctor commented. "He understands honouring a_ deal_, but not why it's wrong to use irresistible astrophysical forces to compel someone to shag him."

Tim said, "It's not about understanding right from wrong, because he probably thinks he's too rich to be beholden to right and wrong."

The Doctor nodded, and added, "I suppose you're right. And it's not about understanding the similarities between business ethics and interpersonal ethics, because he doesn't care about interpersonal ethics at all. It's about what he, personally, deems important."

"Right," Martha chimed in. "Business, especially business with other men? Important. The preservation of a woman's personal autonomy? Not so much."

"Well, I'm going to dare to say, thank God he's got scruples for _something_, because without it, we'd be in deep shit," Tim muttered.

"Indeed," the Doctor agreed.

* * *

The Doctor and Martha stayed in Leeds, but they did move their vehicle out of the Malmays' flat. The brothers were pressed for space as it was, without an infinitely large blue box taking up more of it. They decided to station the TARDIS in a public park down the street.

The following day was a Tuesday, and over morning coffee and toaster pastries, the Doctor sighed, and confessed that he had no fabulous ideas concerning what to do about the Daniel Edge dilemma.

"As Tim said, it's mostly a human issue," he reminded Martha. "So perhaps it should be on you to have the brilliant insight."

"On me?" she practically shrieked. "On me?"

"Relax, I'm joking," he said, taking a long pull off his mug. "But only marginally. Honestly, interpersonal stuff might be your department. I'm just saying."

"Okay, okay," she conceded, now herself taking a long sip of coffee, realising he might not be wrong. "I suppose we could kidnap that girl he wants…"

"Stephanie Havilland."

"…and remove her from the planet until this all blows over."

"That had occurred to me," he admitted.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah.

"We can't do that."

"I know that much, at least," he told her, with a smirk. "But all joking aside, really, the only thing I can think to do at the moment is go into the library and do some research on the Ifasma Galaxy…"

"The reality-manipulating galaxy?"

"Yep, with which Curtis has a synced-up frequency link at the neurotransmitter level, causing his incredibly odd blessing-slash-curse of an ability," the Doctor finished. "I'm wondering if maybe we could be lucky enough to stumble across something that will show us how to manipulate Curtis' power."

"Manipulate it to do what?"

"Well, that's just it, I don't know. Ideally, make the Edge family step away and leave him alone forever. But I have no idea how that would look."

"It's safe to say that knowing the truth about this would scare the pants off them. Maybe we could kidnap them, instead of Stephanie, and show them what's up, and hope they run for the hills afterwards."

"You're not serious."

"Not really. But it bears thinking about. You and I could easily terrify them," Martha said, with a bit of relish.

"Mm, you're not wrong about that."

"And they've got it coming."

"Again… not wrong."

"Maybe Curtis could just _draw them_ stepping away and leaving him alone forever," she suggested.

"Well, that's pretty risky," the Doctor said. "Considering how his drawings need maintenance. But it's not completely out of the question. Another thing to file away, yeah? Maybe there's a way to boost his power, to make it stick better."

And so, the two of them for lack of any better ideas, retired to the library, and immersed themselves in the handful of volumes they could find, which contained information on the Ifasma Galaxy.

After a couple of hours of reading a tiny-printed, TARDIS-translated volume on the history of the Dewdrop Wilds, the corner of the universe where the Ifasma was situated, Martha jotted down a couple of pieces of info that she found interesting (as she had been doing all along), and leaned back in her chair to stretch. She dug her knuckles into her very weary eyes, and groaned.

"I can't believe you're not just buzzing with excitement, Dr. Jones," the Doctor said, never lifting his eyes from the text he was working on.

"Oh, I am," she said flatly. "We all have different ways of expressing intellectual ecstasy."

He smirked. "I do enjoy these little forays into deadpan sarcasm."

"Me too. And I'm not being sarcastic about that."

"If you need a breather, take one. Go get some coffee. Go for a walk… whatever you need."

"Thanks," she said.

For a few moments, she just sat with her head back, and intermittently with her eyes closed, and stared at the ceiling.

She thought about Tim, and Curtis, and what their lives must be like. Someone like her, or even the Doctor, or someone who works in a group home, or even _parents_, these were all people who, in some form or another, _chose_ to make other people's problems their own. But Tim had had caretaking foisted upon him by being born after an autistic brother. He loved Curtis, and definitely had his best interests at heart, but what might Tim have liked to do with his life and time, had this not been the case?

"Poor Tim," she mused, not even fully realising it would come out of her mouth out loud.

"Poor Tim?" the Doctor echoed, still perusing the text.

"Yeah," she sighed. "Shouldn't he be allowed to have a life of his own? A life other than caring for Curtis?"

"I suppose, yeah," the Doctor said. "We all play the cards we're dealt."

"Shouldn't he get to go to the pub and just, you know, talk to people? Shouldn't he have a girlfriend?"

"He should, yeah," the Doctor mused. "Though I think the person he currently has in mind for that role is… uninterested."

"Yeah," she sighed.

"Isn't she?" he asked, looking up at her with his eyes only – no other body part moved.

"Yes. Would you let this go, please?"

"Sorry," he muttered, diving back in.

"You're being paranoid."

"I'm not good at reading people," he said, barely audibly. "And I don't want to lose you."

She hadn't heard the last bit, and remained silent for another few moments, while her mind continued to explore the lot of Tim.

"But… has he _ever_ had a girlfriend? I mean, do you get the feeling that maybe he hasn't spoken to Curtis about sex because…"

"He doesn't know much?"

"Yeah."

"It did cross my mind," the Doctor confessed, absently.

"That's so sad," she said. "What if this isn't what he wants? What if he has big dreams, and he just… can't?"

"Well, Martha, I don't know what to tell you. I suppose when you've shackled yourself to a huge responsibility, when you take on an epic caregiving drama and are trying to keep all the balls in the air so that no-one crashes into anything, no matter how much you want to, it would be hard to disengage your mind and heart enough to fall in love."

"Yeah," she repeated, now studying him, wondering if he realised how revealing a statement that was.

He looked up from his book, and leaned back in his chair, much as Martha did, and stared off at a point behind her someplace. "Or, if you did fall in love, you might be reluctant to pursue it because it would be difficult to maintain. You'd be busy all the time, weighed down by this thing you've imposed upon yourself – or that circumstances have imposed upon you – and someone would wind up getting hurt."

She stared at him a little longer, and could practically see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

"But wouldn't it be worth it to give it a go?" she asked, tentatively.

He finally seemed to realise that what he was saying was extremely transparently personal, and he suddenly shifted his eyes to hers. She softened her gaze, and smiled at him somewhat sadly. "I would think it would be, yes," he whispered.

"Me too," she whispered back.

* * *

And that was Tuesday.

Library. Research. Finding out stuff about the Ifasma Galaxy, for better or for worse.

Martha gave up first, and volunteered to arrange dinner for the pair of them. Once she was able to drag the Doctor out of the library by the arm, and into the kitchen for some soup and rice and fruit salad, they were able to finally look each other in the eyes, and talk properly.

"Well, the bad news is," he said, rubbing his eyes again. "There are several frequencies on which the Ifasma galaxy oscillates at the macro- and micro-level. Which means that Curtis probably isn't the only one who has this ability."

"Oh, no," Martha groaned, stopping with her spoon halfway to her mouth. "That's not good."

"Well, the best we can hope for is that he's the only one on _this _planet," he sighed, taking a sip of his soup. She followed suit.

"Okay, well, if you're interested in what I found out, I wrote some things down," she said, producing a pad of paper from the chair beside her, and pushing it across the table at him. "But I have no idea what to look for. What's significant, and what's not?"

The Doctor passed his eyes over her notes, and said, "The Ifasma Galaxy is orbited by a high-grade magnetic body?"

"Er, yeah," she said. "It's called the Axiothe Field."

"Hunh," the Doctor said, thinking aloud. "It must… I dunno, hold together like a black hole only, like, not as strong. Does that make any cosmic sense?"

"You're asking me?"

"Maybe this can be exploited somehow," he said. "Can you find the spot in the text where you found this info?"

"I can try," she replied.

"It moves around the outskirts of the entire galaxy?"

"I guess so," she told him. "Sounds… not entirely wrong. But bear in mind, I'm not qualified to comment on these things. _Damn it, Jim, I'm a doctor, not an astrophysicist."_

He chuckled. "I hear you, Bones. But you're the cleverest human being I know, so…"

"Also, I was reading the TARDIS-translated version. It's better than Google Translate, but sometimes it's super-obvious that it's English filtered through some other language. Some of it seemed awfully muddled to me, even not accounting for the fact that I'm not even a little bit expert in the subject matter."

"All the same," he said. "You got this far. If we can find that chapter again, we might be able to do something amazing with it."

"You're always able to do something amazing."

* * *

**Thank you for reading, folks. I adore reviews, as you know. I'm also needy, which you also know! So, drop me a line, let me know what you're thinking. And thank you for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

FIVE

Wednesday morning, the Doctor was the one who had to drag Martha to the kitchen, rather than the vice versa of the previous evening. He poured her into a chair, coffee into a mug, then gave her a Pop Tart. He engaged her in conversation, so she wouldn't fall asleep sitting up.

"So," she said, before taking a long, long pull off her coffee. "What's today – more research?"

"I want to know more about that magnetic field round the Ifasma," the Doctor said. "So, yes. But it's much more narrow and specific research than before."

"Okay," she sighed.

They made small talk for a bit, had coffee, unhealthy toaster pastries, and the Doctor jotted down a few book titles on a napkin, that he suggested Martha seek out.

And then, there was a tingly feeling in her bum.

She wasn't firing on all cylinders yet, so her first response was to frown in confusion.

Then, she said, "Ah! My phone!"

She pulled it from her back pocket, flipped it open to an unfamiliar number, and said, "Hello?"

"Martha, it's Tim," said the voice on the other end.

"Hi, Tim," she said. "What's up?"

He sighed. "I think we have a problem."

"Of what sort?"

"Last night, after I left you guys and came back into the flat, Curtis was sitting on the sofa, watching telly. He said that he wasn't able to sleep."

"Okay, with you so far."

"Well, that's not like him. The guy sleeps like a log, especially if he's dealing with some conundrum or other… but that's neither here nor there. The point is, we talked a bit about the implications of what we're doing. I mean… okay, for example, there's this woman named Jessica who lives in our estate, and she has asked us a couple of times to do stuff so her boyfriend will be more of a… you know, model boyfriend. I've always felt weird about it because it's never seemed right manipulating people, and I've talked with Curtis about that in the past. But I've always just let it go because Jessica's boyfriend is a prat, and it's always minor things."

"Oh, good. Seems like a good segue-way into, erm, you know… not manipulating Stephanie Havilland."

"I didn't really go there," he said. "I just told him, overall, what we're doing is wrong because there's too much power involved, and too much potential for shit to go wrong. I put my foot down and told him we're not doing it anymore."

"What did he say to that?"

"He cried," Tim reported.

"Because he was sad?"

"Hard to say. I know that doing this was a good outlet for him. Losing that will be hard. I also know that he felt pretty good about contributing to the household income, which is something he's never been able to do before. Who knows? It could be because he was relieved. Or even because he isn't sure what Mrs. Marais or Jessica will do now that he's not available."

"Okay, Tim, I don't see how any of this constitutes a problem. Didn't you ring to tell me there was a problem?"

The Doctor stared at her with interest.

"Yeah, there's a problem," Tim said. "Because this morning, I went in to wake him, and I discovered… he's already started the drawing."

"What? The one for Edge?"

"Yep."

"Why? How could he… why?"

"He said he didn't know what else to do. He said his brain and his fingers got itchy."

"Oh, God," she groaned.

"What's happened?" the Doctor asked.

"How far has he got?" Martha asked Tim,

"The figures are only complete, basically from the waist-down."

"So, you can tell what they're doing…"

"…just not who they are," Tim finished.

"Okay. What did you do with it?"

"I confiscated it, told him I was going to burn it," Tim said. "But he screamed so loudly when I said that, that I didn't have the heart to. Do you think I should?"

"Burn it?" Martha asked.

"Burn what?" the Doctor wanted to know, the phrase having sent off bells in his brain.

Martha looked at the Doctor. "Curtis has begun the drawing."

"Shit," the Doctor groaned, pulling one hand down over his face.

"The people in the drawing are complete only from the waist-down, so you can tell what they're doing, but not who they are. Tim threatened to burn the drawing, wants to know if he should."

"No, he shouldn't," the Doctor responded. "We don't know if reality has manifested somewhere or other for someone else, or for Edge, or for… we just don't know. Maybe somebody, somewhere, is shagging _because _of that drawing. If we burn it, we don't know what it would do to them."

Martha said, "Tim, did you hear that?"

"Yeah," responded Tim. "So what do we do?"

"Well, do you think you can put Curtis on?" Martha asked. "Maybe I can talk him into abandoning it for now, and letting me handle it."

"You?" asked the Doctor. "Just you?"

"Just for his benefit, Doctor," she said. "He doesn't listen to you."

"Okay, hang on," Tim said.

Martha switched her phone to speakerphone, and laid the apparatus on the table."

* * *

One more time, Tim and Martha (and to some extent, the Doctor) tried to talk to Curtis about how he can't just _draw things_ without the proper barrier between himself and the galaxy that allows him to manipulate reality. They talked to him about the wrongness of manipulating _anyone_, let alone in the way that Edge wanted Stephanie Havilland manipulated. Curtis, in the end, swore he understood what they were talking about, but repeated the sentiment that his brain and fingers were "itchy," and he didn't know what else to do.

"I think he's also reeling from the fact that I've cut him off from doing this sort of thing ever again," Tim said.

"I'm not reeling," Curtis protested. "I don't _reel_. I just don't like it."

"The point is, mate, can we count on you _not_ to take any further steps in that drawing until we've worked out what to do?" Martha asked him.

Curtis grumbled something unintelligible.

"What was that?" the Doctor asked, before he could stop himself. Even he realised, after it was out of his mouth, that he sounded a tad judgemental.

"Yes! You can count on me!" Curtis shouted, in response.

"Great, thank you," Martha said, before the Doctor could agitate the man any further.

"Curtis, you're being rude," Tim scolded.

"Well, what do you want from me? Haven't bloody slept since this whole bloody thing began, and I am experiencing the corresponding irritability!" Curtis snapped back.

"Oh, that's your excuse for being irritable today?" Tim chuckled.

"Curtis, why don't you take a sleeping pill?" Martha suggested.

"I don't know…" Curtis said, with trepidation.

"I know that putting drugs into your body doesn't sound like the best way to handle a stressful situation," Martha said, anticipating Curtis' misgivings. "But just this once, you have my blessing. Me, Martha Jones, M.D. Just take something over the counter. Even a good, strong antihistamine. You've had enough of _thinking_, Curtis, and you just need sleep."

"We'll see if we have something in the medicine cabinet," Tim said. "Thanks, Martha.

"Okay. If you don't find something, ring me back."

After that, the call ended.

"Well… what now? Stick to plan A? Research on the magnetic field?" Martha asked the Doctor.

"Yes, except…" he said, trailing off. He took a contemplative sip from his coffee, then finished his thought. "I think we should just go there."

"To the Ifasma?"

"Yes. And interact with the magnetic field. What's it called?

"The Axiothe Field."

"I think we should go hands-on, study it ourselves."

"Okay. Sounds… like something we would do."

"Doesn't it just?" he asked, with a bit of a manic smile.

* * *

The next thing Martha knew, they had traded their library plans for one that included flying into a totally foreign part of the universe, looking for God Knows What.

"Whoa," Martha said, feeling something tug at the floor beneath her, enough to put her momentarily off-balance. More accurately, she felt something tug at the entire TARDIS. "How far away are we?"

"A hundred thousand miles or so," he said, realising that her question was warranted. "That's quite the pull."

"What's it pulling? The box is wood."

"Well, we can't assume that the Axiothe Field only tugs on metal."

The TARDIS was drifting in space, but they had just begun feeling the effects of the Axiothe Field surrounding the Ifasma Galaxy, as there was definitely a trajectory now, without the vessel's instruments doing any work… they were being pulled in.

"But," the Doctor said. "It works to our advantage, because the TARDIS can calculate distance and velocity and other factors involved in this _pull_, and work out just how strong this thing is."

He stared at the screen and seemed to be contemplating the measurements the vessel was taking. This went on in silence for several minutes.

And then, both of them were lifted off their feet, momentarily, only to fall to the side, as though the console room had been turned sideways… but that's not how the TARDIS worked. Even when the box was lying sideways, one's feet stay on the floor.

However, they now found themselves standing on the wall.

"What the hell, Doctor?"

"Damn," he hissed. "It's messing with the TARDIS' gravity modulator."

Suddenly, the force pulled them toward the door, and they stood on the wall, just above the TARDIS' main entrance/exit.

The Doctor "climbed" to the left, and grabbed onto a railing that bordered a balcony, lining half of the console room. He held onto it, and told Martha to do the same, just in case, things changed again. Then he began to attempt to climb the floor, to perhaps make his way back to the console.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm planning to see whether we've taken all of the readings available, and if we have, then I will get us out of this orbit," he said. "Failing that…"

"Whoa!" she cried out as the gravity changed again, and they now found themselves standing on the domed ceiling. Because of the way the Doctor had been climbing (tenuously) it caused him to fall, and land in a heap. Martha sort of ran down the wall until she reached a comfortable point.

All too quickly, it changed again, this time quite suddenly, and they both fell hard to the floor.

"Quick, Martha!" the Doctor cried out. "Hit the blue button!"

Martha's wrist was injured in the fall, so when she tried to push herself up to standing, she winced, and failed. She struggled to get to her feet, and found a blue button on her side of the console – it was currently flashing.

She hit it with her non-injured hand, then said, "What does it do?"

"Gravity booster," he said, making adjustments to the controls on his side. "Hit it! What're you waiting for?"

"I did!" she replied, just before they were pulled off their feet again, and gravity switched to a different wall.

And then the ceiling again.

Then the opposite wall.

"Are you sure you pressed the right button?" he asked.

"Flashing blue light?"

"Yeah!"

"Yes – I pressed the riiiiiiiight…."

Over and over they got jerked to the side, down, up, to the side again.

"Doctor, how do we get out of this? I think I've broken my wrist!" Martha shouted.

"I can't do anything unless…" he began.

And then the _real_ force began.

They could feel the TARDIS begin to move, in the direction it had been moving for the past several minutes, only now, at a breakneck speed. Mercifully, gravity stayed constant. The Doctor and Martha crouched down with their feet on the front wall of the console room, with the floor and controls to the side.

"Can't do anything unless…?" she asked.

"Unless I can get to the controls," he said. "And the last thing I tried didn't work at all, so maybe not even then."

"Great!"

"Do you really think you've broken your wrist?"

"Hard to say," she said, momentarily allowing herself to cradle it, before applying both hands to steadying herself again. "Maybe not… you're totally at a loss, then?"

"There is one other thing I could try…"

"What happens if we just keep getting sucked in?"

"I have no idea," he admitted, holding onto one of the roundels at his feet, with white knuckles. "I suppose that depends what gets in our way."

That was when they began to hear the _whoosh_. A tremendous sound surrounded the TARDIS, that sounded a bit like wind, a bit like a vacuum cleaner, but definitely like they were being swallowed by something. Their velocity picked up…

…and picked up again. The noise became louder.

"What is that?" Martha shouted, wanting to cover her ears with her hands, but afraid to take her hands away from the cables she was gripping.

"Martha, this is all new to me," he told her, shouting back. "I don't know anything right now!"

Louder still.

Martha screamed against it. It hurt her head and her ears.

The Doctor now followed suit. His tolerance was higher, but they'd now reached his limit.

He yelled out a curse.

They both realised they were frozen in place. The force, the gravity, the noise, everything was creating a perfect storm that meant they were paralysed.

"Oh my God," Martha whined, and a sob welled up in her chest. She let it out, tentatively, afraid to cloud her vision, but unable to hold it in. "Doctor, this is horrible!"

"I know! I'm sorry! This was a bad idea!"

"My head is going to implode!"

"No… no it won't…" he assured her, without any sort of certainty.

"Are you sure this isn't a black hole?" she asked, and then screamed more.

He didn't answer…

And then, there was a loud _bang_, and suddenly, the TARDIS stopped quite suddenly. Slowly, gravity brought them back to normal, with their feet on the metal floor.

"What was that?" she asked, each word coming out sharply, individually, slowly.

He studied the readings on the screen. "We've come through the barrier," he said. "We're on the other side of the Axiothe Field. Inside the galaxy."

"Out of its range?"

"Erm… I guess?" he said, squinting harder, typing commands into the computer. He waited, then said, "So, the field only tends to work in one direction. It sucks in passers-by, but doesn't spit out what's inside."

"That's… bizarre. Isn't it?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "That means it's not just magnetic, it might be sentient. Which means it can be manipulated."

"Good," she sighed. "That's something, at least. Manipulated to do what?"

"An idea is forming," the Doctor said. "This thing got into the TARDIS' inner-workings and messed up its gravity. It practically got into our brains, just through physical force. Imagine how that could be combined!"

"Sounds bloody dangerous."

"It is. How's your wrist?" he asked.

"It hurts a lot. Can only move it slightly," she answered, examining it against the side of the console.

"Okay. Let's make sure we're not going to get blasted into some planet's gravity by a space cannon or something, and then I'll examine it. Otherwise, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm lucky it's just my wrist. You?"

He nodded. "I'm fine. Probably covered with bruises, but fine."

* * *

**We will definitely learn more about the Axiothe Field, and how it might be of use!**

**Crickets have been the pervasive noise in my head... why not leave a review, and make it a little louder? Just take a moment...**

**And THANK YOU for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter discusses a possible solution for Curtis in the long-term, but not in the short term. Curious what you'll think about it - let me know, as you get to the end of the chapter! If you're reading, only fair to leave feedback once in a while!**

**It also contains a deep(ish) foray into the psyche of Tim Malmay, and a bit about his feelings for and about Martha Jones. Dude's got a crush - and who could blame him?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

SIX

Martha's wrist was badly sprained, but not fractured, so the Doctor wrapped it and gave her some mild painkillers.

They returned to the console room afterwards. At the moment, they were floating between the twin planets of Agnes and Cordero, both of which had residents capable of manipulating reality. However, neither was hostile, nor did they have any instruments that would even remotely come close to detecting the TARDIS presence in their orbit.

After that, they discovered that "ploughing" back through the magnetic barrier was nigh on impossible, given the way the magnet was polarised. It had repelled the TARDIS from this direction and sent it flying backwards, but it did not interfere with her instruments this time. This incident was further evidence, in the Doctor's mind, that the field was slightly sentient, and perhaps had a sense of humour.

"I think it messed with us in order to scare us, and now it's backing off. Let's hope it lets us dematerialise out of here when the time comes," the Doctor mused, as the vessel continued to float in space. There was a pause, then, "Martha, I think this means it can mess with _people's _minds, too."

"Oh, Doctor," Martha groaned. "I was so hoping you weren't going to say that."

"Well, you know, it's not just about this one girl who might get murdered if we don't act, and will probably be raped either way, it's also, I'm sorry to say, about Curtis'… gift."

"You want to bring him out here, don't you, to see if you can magnetically fix him?"

"Yeah. Would that be wrong?"

"Maybe," Martha said. "I'd need to know more."

"So would I," he said. He inspected some data coming off a roll of white paper tape on the console. "In fact, looking at this incident report from the TARDIS, the way this thing works, it locks onto concepts, as much as metal."

"What? That's… mad."

"It's not," he said. He showed her a row of data that looked like total gibberish to her, on the paper tape. "Here, you can see. There was interference with the trajectory of the TARDIS, then there were feelers through the rest of the physical dynamics of the ship – gravity, speed capabilities, even species on-board, and pressure and sound tolerance levels."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," he said. "Only then did it begin to mess with the gravity, and from there, you can see… the scaffolding of escalation of drama while we were being pulled in, it was very calculated."

"You don't honestly think I can see that, do you?"

He dropped the tape. "The point is, this _presence_ is magnetic, yes, which is probably what allows it to lock onto stuff. But the magnetism, over billions of years, has evolved into a living thing. This is what it looks like to me. I mean, it's a guess, but a fairly educated one."

"It sounds like the rigmarole we went through was a distraction so that it could examine the TARDIS inner-workings."

"It does sound like that, doesn't it?" he asked. "It's powerful. In fact…"

He began to drift. Martha gave him a moment, as she knew it would be useless to try and get his attention when he was in the deep throes of this state.

After a minute or two, she said, "Okay, so? In fact, what?"

"Oh, erm… well, you're not going to like it. You're just going to tell me it's insane or unethical or both."

"Don't oversell it."

"I think there's a possibility that we could use this thing to interfere with the connection between Curtis and the Ifasma, but also Curtis and everyone whose reality has ever been manipulated by him."

"Seriously? Whoa! Yeah, that's… unethical. Probably. At least. How would that work?"

"There's got to be at least a loose psychic energy link between Curtis and every drawing he's ever done - at least since the comet passed by the Earth and made him all magical and stuff - _and_ between Curtis and, say, the dress that he caused to manifest for his neighbour's job interview."

"And between Curtis and that guy he made into a better boyfriend," Martha mused.

The Doctor hadn't heard that bit of her conversation with Tim, so he ploughed past it and said, "And possibly between all of those people, the items, and the drawings. It would be interesting if I could see a map of how that energy flows."

"Is there any way you could do that?"

"I wouldn't think so, without Curtis' permission. And now that I'm thinking about it, it was probably a good idea for Tim to put a stop to all this."

"Agreed," Martha said. "And I think that, even without understanding the whole psychic link business completely. But if the Axiothe Field interferes with that energy link, then will it undo everything he's made manifest? Will the dress disappear? Will perfect-boyfriend-guy go back to normal?"

"I have no idea," the Doctor said. "I wouldn't discount it, since this galaxy has the reality-manipulating properties, and it's entirely possible – actually, probable – that the Axiothe has absorbed some of t."

"Would the people who know about his power forget about it? Because if we take away his power, but Daniel Edge stays on his case…"

"Excellent question. I don't know."

"Would Curtis have to do the drawing of Edge and Stephanie Havilland, in order to make Edge to back off? I mean, if the link is between Curtis and the drawing and/or the manifestation of the drawing, then it seems to stand to reason. Well, reason as much as any of this does. And as I understand it."

"I don't know," the Doctor said.

"It seems awfully risky, letting him do the drawing, and then thinking we could activate some sort of Axiothe madness to stop it all before Stephanie falls under the drawing's influence. How long does it take for a drawing to manifest?"

"I don't know."

Martha sighed. She used to rather enjoy hearing the Doctor say, "I don't know," because it was so rare, and made her not feel like the only clueless person in the room. But when things, like lives, were at stake, it was less fun. She wanted answers, and they didn't have a lot of time.

"There's another by-product of all this Axiothe interference talk, Martha," the Doctor said. "If it can muck about with the TARDIS, and minds, and interfere with signals between Curtis and all the stuff he's done – and all this is speculation, mind you – I mean, it's again, _educated_ speculation, I'm not just writing science fiction here – but if all of that is possible, we can't guarantee…" He stopped, and let out an exasperated breath.

"Can't guarantee what?" Martha asked. Then something occurred to her. "Ohhh, we can't guarantee it wouldn't mess with Curtis' brain even further. Is that what you were going to say?"

"Yep."

"Deepen his symptoms?"

"More likely wipe them away."

"Oh. Oh boy."

* * *

Tim Malmay had been sitting, for the last three hours, in front of the television, trying to zone out. Several times over the past two days, he'd thought that Curtis was properly asleep, and he could breathe for a few moments, only to find that his brother was wide awake and fretting. And overthinking. And doing forbidden drawings. And anytime Curtis was awake and agitated, it meant that Tim had to be "on."

But just now, gone a full three hours, he actually had been able to pull his mind away from the Daniel Edge dilemma. Curtis had taken Martha Jones' advice, and popped a couple of antihistamines that had made him extremely drowsy, and had disappeared into his room. Tim checked on him an hour later and found him truly asleep. _Thank heaven, _he'd thought. And at this moment, was feeling slightly recharged, and was daring to hope he'd have most of the day to himself.

Because, he enjoyed taking care of his brother (for the most part), and he enjoyed philosophizing with the Doctor and especially with Martha, but he wondered what sort of solution he could find, or conclusion he could come to, if he were left alone for a bit. He trusted in his relative intelligence, and in his own problem-solving skills, though the chaos of the last forty-eight hours was putting a strain on all of it.

He had called in sick today, reluctant, under the circumstances, to leave Curtis alone, even if he was asleep. Tim was thinking vaguely about the programme he was watching on telly, but also about Curtis, their former home in Kent, their mum, and how they should've just stayed put, and never come to Leeds. What would it take to move home? How long before they could do just that? He thought about Jessica with the imperfect boyfriend, Mrs. Marais, Beaman, and everyone else who asked Curtis for help… what would he tell them, now that they were "out of business?" He thought about his job, and the possibility of doing as the Doctor and Martha suggested, and trying to pursue a career in social work. This, of course, would take time, and therefore, money, and planning ahead… but was it worth trying to do?

He knew it was. For people whom he could help, and also for himself. His self-esteem wasn't exactly sky-high lately, knowing that he was capable of a lot, yet was accomplishing nothing. If he could just get to a place where he felt like other people, worthy of being listened-to, being treated like a normal person, and not a drain on the system.

And he tried not to go there, but this train of thought led to Martha. He wanted to be worthy of her. As things were, the idea of a former high-ranking military doctor and _him_ made no sense. But a doctor and a social worker made sense. Two people who help others, who advocate for others' well-being, who pull out all the stops to make sure that lives run smoothly – it was a good match. He didn't know exactly how old she was, but he guessed that they were within five years of one another, and she was kind-hearted, liked Curtis and vice versa, and distractingly beautiful. The previous evening, it had taken a Herculean effort to concentrate on the conversation… which is interesting, because it was a conversation that made him fancy her even more than he already had. She'd spoken about finding strength and ferocity attractive in another human being, and boy, had she been right. And if he hadn't been mistaken, he and the Doctor had both felt chastened by her assertions…

… ah, the Doctor. This was the thought that made him sigh, and derailed all of his other thoughts.

Tim could make all the plans he liked, but he'd never be as tall as the Doctor, nor as clever nor dashing. He'd never look _that_ good in a suit, nor have those sharp features, nor the surprisingly bright smile. He, in fact, would always be himself: five-foot-seven, with one foot slightly larger than the other. He might not always have the slightly chubby babyish face (which he tried to downplay with uneven facial hair growth), but he knew that even if he aged into it rather well, it would never be a superlatively handsome face. His hair would always be thin and of an indistinct colour (and if his grandfather was any indication, he wouldn't have much of it after forty), and he'd never have "bearing." If he had a time machine, perhaps he could acquire some…

But guess who _did _have a time machine.

And that was the most unfair bit of all. Tim could social work all over the place and advocate for a thousand citizens in need, and win. But he would never, ever be a Time Lord.

Good grief. God help the man foolish enough to attempt to go to the mat with that guy. Well, that was just the point, wasn't it? _Everyone_ who messed with the Doctor wound up on the losing team.

Which led him to want to forget about everything for a few more minutes, and back to the television programme, the thread of which he had now well and truly lost. So, he changed channels, and began watching a sit-com replay, of an episode he'd seen before. He didn't _have _to pay attention now, if he didn't want.

When his phone rang, he actually jumped. He hadn't realised how truly outside-of-the-moment he'd been, until then. He glanced, heart racing, at the display, and realised it was _her_. The-totally-unattainable-yet-somehow-worth-the-trouble Martha Jones.

"Hi, Martha," he said.

"Hi, Tim," she replied. "All right?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You sound sort of… agitated."

"Oh… the phone startled me. What's going on?"

"Well, we thought you might like an update on what we found."

"Great," he said, feeling exhausted again already. "Sure, yeah. Lay it on me."

"You're probably not going to like it."

"Why? Are we buggered?"

"Not exactly," Martha sighed. "I mean, we may have found a way that we can sever Curtis' connection to the galaxy that allows him to manipulate reality. And the Doctor thinks that, by extension, we can also sever his connection to any drawing he's done that manifested, and to anyone who has asked for his help."

"So, all the stuff he's done to help people would be undone, and Daniel Edge would forget he exists?"

"We don't know that bit yet," Martha confessed. "Both of those scenarios seem to stand to reason, but the Doctor is still analysing the Axiothe Field."

"What's that?"

"It's a heavenly body. It's a, erm, slightly sentient magnetic field that pervades the outskirts of the Ifasma Galaxy. The Doctor reckons it's got enough magnetic mojo to…"

"…interfere with Curtis' brain function?" asked Tim, seeing where she was going with this.

"In a manner of speaking," she sighed. "And based on what I've seen, I agree. You should've seen what it did to…"

"So, what would Curtis have to do?" he interrupted.

"Again, we don't know," said Martha. "Not for sure. But it would most probably involve bringing him out here into space, into the Ifasma Galaxy, and channelling the Axiothe through him, to first measure what happens, and then..."

Tim got to his feet. "You want to zap my brother's brain with a magnetic pulse, large enough to be called a heavenly body?"

"It would be controlled, of course," said Martha.

"Controlled."

"Yes, through the TARDIS, and through the Doctor's manipulations, and…"

"That sounds incredibly dangerous!" Tim said, trying to keep his cool.

"He would wear the same apparatus that he wore when we probed his brain function to see what was causing the reality thing," Martha said. "Only this time…"

"You'd be feeding rubbish _into_ him, rather than measuring what comes out. It still sounds, as I said, _incredibly dangerous!_" he said, now a little less calm. "Martha, please assure me that my brother will be okay, if you do this."

"_If_ we do it, he will be okay," Martha said. "But only because, if we find that it will make him not-okay, we just won't do it. Okay?"

"What? What are you saying?"

That was when the Doctor took over the call. "Tim?" his voice said through the phone.

"What, Doctor?"

"I'm only hearing one side of the conversation, but I gather that you're having a few doubts," said the Doctor.

"Yeah! Just a few!"

"Yeah, us too! Look, right now, it's just a notion," the Time Lord explained. "And you're right - nothing about it is safe. But also, nothing about it is concrete and it's the only thing we've come up with and it's in the planning stages, so try to get a level head about you."

"Did you just tell me to calm down?"

"No, I said try to get a level head. Big difference. Because, I'm sorry to remind you, Tim, but we're running out of time. Edge wants his drawing done tomorrow. Did he say what time?"

"No, he didn't."

"Well, then, there's nothing that says big guys with guns won't show up at your door just after midnight."

"Shit," Tim spat, not having thought of that possibility. "Fucking perfect."

"Indeed, so, hear us out."

"Okay…" Tim began, so that he could hold the Doctor's attention for a moment while he caught his breath and delineated his thoughts just a bit. "Let me get my mind around this. Say you douse Curtis with a gigantic electromagnetic pulse, that severs the link between him and this… Whatever-It-Is Galaxy, so that he can't manipulate reality anymore."

"Yeah?"

"Isn't that link related to his autism?"

The Doctor looked at Martha meaningfully. She couldn't hear what Tim was saying, but she knew he was clever, and she knew the Doctor well. She wondered if Tim was working out what might happen, if they blasted Curtis with the Axiothe Field's energy.

"Yes, it's related to the frequency on which the neurotransmitter GABA fires in Curtis' brain," the Doctor answered.

And Martha knew she was right.

"Will the effects be permanent? On him, or on anyone else's brain changed by it?"

"Most likely."

"So, can you guarantee that Curtis will still be… Curtis? When all is said and done, will I have my brother as I know him? And you know what I'm talking about, Doctor."

"Yes, I do. And no, I can't," the Doctor admitted. "But again, Tim, if you've got any other ideas, I'm open to suggestions."

Frustration and fear bubbled to the surface of Tim's very being, and he knew as soon as the first words were out of his mouth that he would regret both the content and tone of this last, but he couldn't stop himself. Despair got the better of him.

"Well, I'm not the bloody Time Lord, am I?" he shouted. "If you can't figure out a way to fix this without ruining our lives, then what the hell is the point of you?"

"Tim…"

"Curtis has a beautiful mind, and it is not on offer for manipulation! Now, get Daniel Edge off our backs without tearing that down, or else don't do anything at all! We'll take care of it ourselves!"

When he cut off the call, he was trembling, regretting, and wondering what would happen if the Doctor (and Martha) did, indeed, decide to let _them_ deal with it.

* * *

**Okay, here comes some reverse psychology: I forbid you to leave a review! Absolutely do not do it!**

**(Did it work? Either way, thanks for reading!)**


	7. Chapter 7

**The Doctor discovered a "sentient" magnetic field that might be manipulated into interfering with Curtis' connection with the Ifasma Galaxy, and therefore his ability to create reality. But it might also interfere with his autism, which Tim, no matter how smitten he is with Martha, cannot abide.**

**So what's next? Time's running short!**

* * *

**Well, we will find out soon enough. But first, we're going to take a bit of a B-road to remind ourselves at this point that the Doctor and Martha are still dealing with some fairly intense personal issues, over and above the "case" they're working on. There is still a ship moving full steam ahead! :-)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

SEVEN

It was Wednesday afternoon, and the Doctor and Martha had just informed Tim Malmay that they may have found a way to undo Curtis' influence on reality, but it might also "undo" Curtis as they knew him. It might mean that some symptoms of his autism dissipate. For all they knew, it might make the symptoms more pronounced. Or it might augment some, and abate others… they just weren't sure. Either way, there was a good chance that Curtis' wonderfully quirky self would… change.

Frustration and fear bubbled to the surface of Tim's very being, and he knew as soon as the first words were out of his mouth that he would regret both the content and tone of this last, but he couldn't stop himself. Despair got the better of him.

"If you can't figure out a way to fix this without ruining our lives, then what the hell is the point of you?"

"Tim…" the Doctor tried.

"Curtis has a beautiful mind, and it is not on offer for manipulation! Now, get Daniel Edge off our backs without tearing that down, or else don't do anything at all! We'll take care of it ourselves!"

When he cut off the call, he was trembling, regretting, and wondering what would happen if the Doctor (and Martha) did, indeed, decide to let _them_ deal with it.

* * *

Neither the Doctor nor Martha was particularly surprised at Tim's reaction to the news. They knew how Tim felt about his brother, and how the two of them generally felt about his brother's autism. When all of this reality-manipulating business had come to light, both of them had been extremely reluctant to medicate Curtis, even for the good of (potentially) humanity. They'd agreed to treat the link to the Ifasma with foods, but stopped short of pharmaceuticals.

"Well, I guess that went as well as could have been expected," the Doctor sighed, closing the phone.

"How did it end?"

"He threatened to try to take care of it himself, if we couldn't get rid of Edge without ruining Curtis."

"Oh. Well, that's daft – that could get him killed."

"Yes, it could. So… what's next?"

"Is there a way to find out what, if any, damage the Axiothe would do to Curtis?" Martha asked.

"I suppose we'd better try," the Doctor sighed. "I mean, we should probably leave the man's brain chemistry intact if at all possible."

"Can we do that without involving the man himself?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Your guess, at this stage, is as good as mine."

* * *

They were still parked within the Ifasma Galaxy, on the inside of the Axiothe Field, so they were in a good position to take a few more readings from the field itself. However, they were only able to study its actual magnetic properties, and the strength of it, as it was still keeping its mind-probing qualities secret from them.

It was dreadfully dull, but necessary work. Martha had to reassure herself (actually, frequently) that her original time with the Doctor was characterised by two things: adventure, and unrequited love, both of which were seen through the goggles of idealisation.

When she thought about those times, she remembered the "highlights" of their voyages – the instances when they were saving planets, running for their lives, doing spectacular things all over the universe. However, when they were stymied, or required more time to solve a problem, to find out more, to move forward methodically, _that _stuff had been somewhat obscured from her memory. Things like spending three weeks in the TARDIS, researching the Tenzing Lizard hatching in Shepherd's Bush, finding out precisely what would maim, but not kill the Mother Beast and how to get it back to its home dimension… ugh, that had been a tedious twenty days, better forgotten.

Even the frustrating state of affairs concerning her relationship with the Doctor back in those days, was now tinted romantic. She knew that the whole business had been absolutely gut-wrenching, and that she would scarcely wish it on anyone, and wouldn't relive it for all the money in the universe. But at times, she saw herself angsting rather beautifully over it, over him, as though she'd spent the time tearing at her cassock and enacting a Greek tragedy. She now could picture her incomplete love as a perfect piece of poignant misery, exquisite evidence of her brokenness. It was fodder for weeping in the rain, writing amazing poetry, and thinking of herself as "tortured" and mysterious.

But that's not necessarily how she'd been feeling a month ago. A month ago, none of it had been mythic nor romantic – it had simply been a very, very rough patch of her life, which she had got over, but just barely. How much had her perception of their first voyages together morphed, since coming back onboard, after the Malmay debacle four weeks ago? She guessed, quite a lot. Why?

Because though it had been all but forgotten in the wake of the Daniel Edge crisis, she and the Doctor had been _just there_, when the situation had exploded in Leeds (again). They had been on the edge of something happening. The best kind of something. A hard-earned something. A certain(ish) something.

And as she sat in the console room feeling largely helpless, not able to assist the Doctor, not able to read the measurements the TARDIS was taking, nor to coax the process along in any way, she did think about how _this_ period of her life would be remembered. She desperately hoped that she would not look back on herself today and think _God, what a fool_, but when she really examined what she thought might someday be the pervasive sentiment, she just couldn't come up with anything. She simply didn't know, with the way things stood at this moment.

But she did realise something. Since the first time out with the Doctor, she had grown. She had grown experientially, which had caused her perspective to grow, in general. She had matured as a person, as a doctor, and as a companion to The Most Amazing Man Full-Stop. And this growth caused her to realise yet another truth: she herself had quite a bit of say in how "this period" of her life went. That was something she hadn't realised when she was a med student in a blue box with a Time Lord – _she_ had agency. He was not the only person driving the action in the saga of their lives.

And now, she had the confidence and the wherewithal to do something. All she had to do was bring it up again…

"Doctor?" she said, rather softly as he stared into the screen with a scowl.

"Yeah?" he asked, absently.

"I'm sorry we got derailed," she said. She swallowed hard. She knew that she wouldn't be able to recapture _the moment_ until Daniel Edge was dealt with, and Stephanie Havilland was safe, but she didn't really mean to. This was a simple reminder to him that they meant something to each other – more than just companions or travelling partners now, more than just two people who did research together.

And it was an assertion to herself that she would not allow things to return to the status quo.

"Derailed," he said, still far away. "How?"

"Derailed from the trajectory you and I have been on for the past month," she said. "A couple of days ago, you were still telling me stories. We were talking about your dreams. We were drinking wine. All those stories were gelling in my mind and…"

He now looked at her. "I see," he said, with a sigh. "Yeah, I'm sorry too. But this is what we do. It's who we are. Isn't it?"

"Getting sidetracked from our lives by weird stuff happening in the universe? Of course. But I'm still sorry."

"Well, it's not forever," he said, crossing the space toward her, where she sat on the lone stool. He took her hands. It was the first bit of tenderness they'd shown each other since they'd been interrupted by the TARDIS' forced materialisation in the Malmays' front room. "We can get back to it… back to _each other _in a little while. Just need to get Curtis sorted out first."

She nodded, and stared at the floor for a few moments. Then, she asked, "The other day, Doctor, when you said that your lifestyle makes it hard to fall in love, and stay in a relationship, were you thinking in general terms, or were you thinking of… you know, the current situation?"

"Erm…" he said, staring off into the distance. "I'm not sure."

All at once, he was reminded of what relationships were like. It was easy to think of them (even remember them) as all romance… talking about dreams, musing over the past, lazing on the sofa, enjoying life together, making love, making memories, et cetera. Even unpleasant things like having rows, discovering betrayals, packing one's things and leaving.

But so much of relationships, in general, was like this: promises for later, getting derailed, and being asked difficult questions.

She said, "Because you've got your commitment to the universe, so that makes things hard... it could make falling in love rather pointless. I think... I mean, I don't want to put words in your mouth, but I think you've learned that the hard way? Perhaps more than once?"

"Yeah," he said, very softly.

"But if you'll let me, I'll commit to it alongside you. And in that case, it wouldn't be as hard as it's been in the past. It wouldn't be pointless... would it?"

"I suppose not," he conceded. "But there are always factors we haven't thought of. Our lives are unstable…"

"Love is fluid," she said. "Adaptable. And if you do it right, it absorbs shock."

"_Love_… is fluid," he repeated.

And it occurred to her then that in all of the excitement of the past month, _that word_ had not been uttered. At least not in the context of the two of them.

Determined not to return to the status quo, Martha gulped hard, and said, "Yes. It is. I know, because I love you."

"Martha," he breathed.

He already knew it. It was just a surprise to hear her say the words directly to him, so clearly.

It burned like a hand on a hot stove… he had to pull away from the emotion of it, or it would hurt too much to touch.

"I've loved you since I met you, and the colour of that love has changed. The shape of it, and the texture. And it will continue to change, and bend and…"

"Wow," he mused, looking at her with shock.

"…and grow."

He didn't say anything for a long few moments, but Martha could see that he was thinking about what she had said. He was forcing himself to play the words over and over in his mind. He was acclimating to the brightness, the searing heat and brilliance of the revelation…

It made him want to run screaming. It also made him want to fall to his knees, wrap his arms around her waist and weep.

Martha was resisting the urge to beg him to say something.

At last, he said, "If my life is unstable, then yours will be, too."

"Yes."

"If I'm imprisoned in a Tronsangian cell for trying to thwart the Tronsang Emperor's attempted takeover of the neighbouring planet of Hyvee, then you'll work to rescue me."

"Yes."

"If I have to hole up with the Facced People in order to reprogramme their agricultural regulation systems, which would take about three months, and women are not allowed in the agricultural centre…"

"I'll wait for you somewhere else.

"If I have to trek across a planet with a gang of rebels to plant the seeds of discord, and that's the only way to save them, and I can't take you with me…"

"I'll wait in a birdcage on a huge spaceship with a despotic Time Lord, and wait for you to return."

"What?"

She smiled. "That scenario didn't sound familiar?"

He smiled back. "Oh. Yeah. Martha, I'm just thinking of all the weird things that happen to me – to us – that make it hard to concentrate on love. And if I'm in love, it makes it hard _not _to concentrate on that, which can be dangerous."

"Haven't you ever thought of love as a weapon? As something you can _use_ when you're trying to concentrate on something else?"

"As it happens, yes," he answered. He took both of her cheeks and jaws in his hands gently, and said, "Martha, I'm in, okay? I was all in a month ago. After you walked away from me, things changed... in my head, and in my hearts. But you already know all that. The bottom line is, I want you in my very complicated life, and I want to be part of your very complicated life, and I'm not looking for a _first mate _for my ship. To be honest, I'm not _looking for _anything – it's not about searching. It's about you."

"Okay," she said, with a sheepish smile, as he let go of her. "I'm sorry I made things… weird."

"Well, relationships are weird. So, obviously, I'm not saying _no. _I'll never say _no _to you again."

"Oh!"

"So I'm not using any of those scenarios as reasons why we shouldn't be together."

"Okay. Thank you – I'm glad to hear that. I guess I knew that… I just got paranoid for a moment."

"But you asked me a question, and I really think it's worth answering, so I was thinking aloud."

"I should have just let you talk," she realised.

"You asked if I really meant what I said, that living my life can make it hard to fall in love, and stay in a relationship… even with you, who lives this life with me. And I'd have to say… yes, I meant what I said."

She nodded. "Thank you for being honest."

"But I also meant it yesterday when I said love is worth the try," he said. "And I meant it when I said that I'm sorry we got derailed."

"Good. This is all very good," she commented, unsure of what else to say.

"But I've…"

At that moment, as though the word _derailed_ had gone out into the universe like a beacon, attracting more of itself, Martha's phone rang in her pocket.

"Are you kidding me?" she hissed, pulling the phone out.

The Doctor chuckled. "Exhibit A for why romance in the TARDIS can be hard to sustain."

She looked at the display on her phone. "Curtis. We should've known not to try to do this while we're still working with the Malmays."

"Those two guys. It's like they know when you're getting close to me, and…" the Doctor mused, with a frown.

"Hello?" she said into the phone.

"Martha. It's Curtis," said the voice on the other end. "Curtis Malmay, of Leeds. Tim's brother. I'm the bloke who can draw…"

"Yes, hi, Curtis," she said with a chuckle. "I know who you are."

"Sorry. I don't know if you know lots of guys named Curtis, or…"

"It's all right. What's up?"

"Tim told me what you found," said the man.

"All right. And, what are your thoughts?"

"Erm… can I see you? Both of you?" asked Curtis. "There's some stuff I want to say, and I don't want to say it over the phone. I don't do well over the phone."

"We will get there as soon as we can, okay?" she asked, not ready to commit, as she was not yet sure whether the Axiothe would allow them to dematerialise.

"Okay, I'll wait here," Curtis said, with some finality. Then, he added, "Oh, I'm not at home."

"All right, where are you?"

"I'm at a chip shop round the corner from our estate."

"On your own?"

"Yeah. I left because Tim was being a prat."

"Okay. What's the name of the place?"

"Chipwrecked," he said. "Stupid name."

"Just stay there – we'll see you soon."

Martha relayed the applicable information on to the Doctor, who responded with wide eyes, and enthusiasm (the way he responds to most things).

* * *

**Languishing with no reviews! If you're reading, please play fair and let me know. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A few baby "waves" were made by the Doctor and Martha's ship. But as usual, they were interrupted. Curtis called, and reported that he'd stormed out of the house because Tim was "being a prat," and asked the TARDIS team to come and meet him in a chip shop near the estate. So, what are his thoughts on this whole magnetic-field-might-fix-the-problem-but-also-mess-with-his-brain, state of affairs?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

EIGHT

The Axiothe Field had not yielded any important information, so it probably felt that it was safe to allow the TARDIS to dematerialise from the Ifasma Galaxy, and rematerialise wherever it wanted.

As such, the Doctor and Martha walked into a narrow little hideaway called "Chipwrecked". It was already after ten p.m., so the fluorescent light seemed particularly sickening. The tile on the floor and walls was yellow, and probably hadn't been replaced since 1980. This made it all the more jarring to see Curtis Malmay, who was somewhat of a large man, sitting at a table in the middle of the shop, in his bright red hoodie. Especially as there was no-one else in the store, save for the sixty-or-so-year-old server behind the counter.

"Hi," Martha said as they made their way toward the table.

"They won't let you sit here unless you buy something," he said, sipping on a soda. There was already an empty paper container that had once contained chips, sitting in front of him.

"Sorry, loves," said the woman behind the counter. "It's policy. I get no say in it."

"Hungry?" the Doctor asked Martha.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Okay. I'll deal with the, erm… food… bit," he said, awkwardly, as he walked toward the counter.

"How are you?" Martha asked. "Finally got some rest, we heard."

"Yes," Curtis confirmed. "But when I woke up, Tim was being a prat."

"So you said," Martha commented, as the Doctor ordered a steak pie and chips. "How so?"

"He suggested that we try to solve the problem by me drawing a picture of Daniel Edge going to prison," Curtis said. "Or forgetting that I exist. Or forgetting that Stephanie Havilland exists. But that can't work because that reality will have to be maintained. Especially when you're manipulating sentient creatures…"

"Er, Curtis, Curtis," the Doctor said, turning around, putting a finger over his lips. Martha had already begun to try to stop him talking, but to no avail. "Might want to pipe down a bit, mate."

"It's okay," Curtis said, nodding toward the woman behind the counter. "Louise knows me – she lives in our estate. She knows what I can do."

Louise nodded. "Curtis fixed my car – drew me up a whole new carburetor," she said. "I couldn't have afforded it meself. And he's told me about his little problem with the Edge family. A bunch of bloody reptiles, that family, if you ask me."

"Mm, yes," the Doctor muttered. "Well said. However, Curtis, Louise… maybe we don't mention this to anyone else, eh?"

Louise made a show of "zipping" her lips, and throwing away the key. Then, she moved down the line to fill the Doctor's order.

"Well, Curtis," Martha said. "The Doctor and I talked about doing that sort of thing as a kind of solution – your drawing an end to the situation – and we came to the same conclusion you did. It can't work."

"Right," Curtis agreed. "So you agree, Tim was being a prat."

"Well, I wasn't there," Martha argued.

"Not to mention, if the influence of the Ifasma ever faded, Edge might realise he's in prison because you put him there," the Doctor said. "And then he'd be able to lawyer his way out, and he'd want revenge, and everyone you know would be in danger."

"What you're discussing is more like the mafia," Curtis snapped at him. "We have no evidence that the Edge family is involved in that sort of thing."

"But wouldn't it be naïve simply to assume that they're not?" asked the Doctor.

"I suppose," Curtis grumbled.

"Actually, it doesn't matter whether they are actually involved in the mafia or not," the Doctor pointed out, turning his back to the counter, and now leaning against it pensively, with his arms crossed over his chest. "Their behaviour suggests that they would seek revenge anyhow – or at least, young Daniel would. They'd do their own thing, have their own entourage, their own operation… and they wouldn't see it as mafia-like, they would simply see it as business. Protecting their interests."

"Right, so, no artificial manipulating of the Edge family," Martha said to Curtis. "You are right about that."

Curtis sighed heavily. He then used his fists to hide his face.

"Curtis?" Martha asked. "What's wrong?"

The man shook his head, and said nothing.

"Curtis," she said, trying to pry his hands away from his eyes. "Are you upset?"

He nodded vigorously.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Curtis," Martha said, reaching out to stroke his arm.

He allowed her to do this for about three seconds, then pulled away.

In the next minute and a half, Martha just let Curtis cry a bit. Louise delivered the Doctor's steak pie and chips on a tray, he paid her, and then sat down beside Martha. Neither of them ate yet, though it did start to smell quite good to Martha…

In his own time, Curtis brought his hands down to his lap, and stared at them. His eyes were bloodshot, cheeks wet with tears.

"This is a curse," he said, very softly.

"No arguments here, mate," the Doctor said to him, just as softly.

"I can't _not_ _draw_," he said. "It's part of who I am, just as much as being part of the Malmay family. Or being autistic. Or being clever. I draw."

"I completely understand that," Martha told him.

"But when I draw, it causes chaos," Curtis said. "I've now seen what can happen when the wrong people find out about it. And unless Tim and I get very, very mean…"

"It will continue, and people like Edge will continue to demand things from you," Martha finished.

"Yes," Curtis confirmed. He took a deep breath. "Okay. Tim wanted me to draw us out of the situation because he thought we should be finding a way to take the two of you out of the equation, and out of our lives. I asked him why he'd want Martha Jones out of our lives. He said because it would be easier for him if he never saw you again."

Martha breathed in deeply, and exhaled evenly, trying hard not to make some kind of outburst that would alarm both Curtis and the Doctor. "Okay. Go on."

"But he also said…" Curtis began, then he gulped hard. "He said, the two of you want to do something drastic that will… change me."

"We don't want to, Curtis," the Doctor said, gently. "But it's the only thing we've found that even _somewhat _resembles a solution, and we're running out of time."

Curtis focused his eyes on Martha, as usual, rather ignoring the Doctor. "Would it… change me, Martha?"

He was so child-like with this question, and seemed so frightened, that Martha desperately wanted to lie to him. But as they all well knew, they were running out of time, and moreover, Curtis would probably know.

"Very, very likely, it would, Curtis," she told him. "We don't know enough about it right now to say for sure, but based on the research we've done, the Axiothe Field would crawl inside your brain. It could sever your connection with the Ifasma Galaxy, and therefore, we think, with every drawing you've ever done that changed reality."

He frowned deeply. "What would happen to Xanthavia and Valanon and the Dragon?"

He was referring to characters he'd created that had come alive, and their existence had wrought enough havoc in the city of Leeds that UNIT had been called in, and subsequently the Doctor. He and Martha had ultimately found homes for all three of them on different planets, but their very existence hinged upon Curtis "maintaining" them with new drawings every few weeks.

"We'll find a way to take care of them," the Doctor said. In truth, he had no idea how they would do that – there would be a lot more research, he reckoned, and a few more visits to the Ifasma.

"In that case," Curtis said, actually acknowledging what the Doctor had said. "I'm ready for you to do it."

"We would have to bring you up into the Axiothe Field and study it with you there, first," Martha said.

"Fine," Curtis said. "Do what you have to." He pulled his hood even tighter, and crossed his arms.

"You'd come with us?" the Doctor asked. "Let us hook you up to machines?"

Curtis was quiet for about a minute, then he asked, "If I drew the picture for Edge without Tim knowing about it…"

"Curtis, you can't," Martha urged.

"No, listen," he said. "If I drew it, it would be rape. Right?"

"Yes," Martha said. "Definitely."

"She would feel horrible in the end."

"Yes," Martha repeated.

"Okay then, I won't finish the drawing, and that's final," Curtis said. "So how do we keep her from getting killed?"

"We see if we can sever the link between you and everyone who knows about your ability," the Doctor told him. "We _might_ be able to do that, as well."

"All right, let's try it," Curtis said, in a rare moment of speaking directly to the Doctor, without any cynical venom in his voice. "I'm ready."

"Are you sure?" Martha asked him. "Because, here's the thing. When we mentioned to Tim what we could do, he reacted very… er, vehemently. He forbade it, and said that you have a beautiful mind… and after knowing you for a while, I guess I'm inclined to agree with that bit."

"Tim is a good brother," Curtis said, now rocking back and forth in his chair a bit. He was agitated, to be sure, and Martha became very aware that this was the first time they'd been in Curtis' presence without Tim. "But it's not for him to forbid. Besides, he deserves to be free."

"I think so, too," Martha said, taking the Doctor's hand.

"And, I think what people don't understand is that my autism isn't just something that makes _me_ special," Curtis continued, still rather nervous. "It's something that makes Tim special, too. He's the wonderful, generous caretaker of an autistic brother. That is one-hundred-per-cent true, but it has become part of his identity. And he's quite attached to that identity."

"Interesting," Martha said. She and the Doctor looked at each other with surprise, because neither of them had thought of it that way.

"So it would be scary for him if I changed. If I was no longer autistic. If my symptoms abated and I could be more independent… which part of me wants, just because it would be nice to be independent," Curtis continued. "So, of course he would forbid it. Not only is he trying to protect me and who I am, he he is trying to protect himself, and who he is. But the difference is, this old brain is mine, not his. And I say, I don't want anyone getting raped."

"A noble sentiment, indeed," the Doctor said, very, very quietly.

"Thanks to you, Dr. Jones, I've been able to spend a bit of time feeling slightly less literal and linear and black-versus-white than ever before," Curtis said to Martha. "And I've seen why having such a straightforward view of the world is… _can be_ a disadvantage. I never understood that before. How could _not_ seeing absolute truth in most things be _good _for anyone? But I get it now. Most of the world believes there isn't absolute truth."

"Now, hold on, Curtis," Martha said. "We're going to do this because we want to save Stephanie Havilland from something terrible and humiliating. Not because there's anything wrong with you."

"I know that," Curtis said, stopping his rocking. "I guess I'm trying to work out whether the pros might outweigh the cons in the end. I think I may not know until it happens."

"You may be right," she agreed.

"But for the sake of that young woman, I'm willing to sacrifice a part of myself."

"All right. If you're sure," she said, looking at the Doctor. Curtis had not made eye-contact in several minutes.

"I am," he practically whispered. "Just… give me an hour or so."

"An hour?" Martha asked.

"Yes. Is that all right?"

"I think so," Martha said. "It's now half-ten."

"Then give me until midnight," Curtis said. He stripped his hood back, and sat up straight, and folded his hands on the table in front of him. "Tim will be waiting up for me. I'll go home and tell him what we talked about, and that I've made up my mind. Then you can come collect us at midnight, after I've calmed him down."

"All right," the Doctor said. "And then, once we're in the TARDIS, we can fudge on time, just a bit. But not too much."

Curtis did not answer. He was not meant to believe in the Doctor and his prowess, especially as a time-traveller, but was willing to submit to his "Deus Ex Machina" style of problem-solving, just this once. Even though he didn't believe in that either.

He stood up and said, "See you then," then headed purposefully toward the door.

The Doctor and Martha watched him go, then the Doctor slipped round and took a seat across from Martha. The two of them sat silently, contemplatively, and shared the food they'd ordered from Louise, which was now cold. It wasn't particularly tasty, but it was very English, which Martha found comforting.

* * *

The chip shop closed at eleven, so the two of them went back to the TARDIS to get ready, neither of them feeling great about what was about to happen.

The Doctor spent some time preparing the equipment he'd need to probe the Axiothe Field, along with Curtis' brain.

In addition, he extracted four harnesses from storage, and showed Martha how to attach them to the console and/or the railing, so that just in case the field pulled them through as it had before, they would be ready for it to mess with gravity all it wanted, with less chance of injury. Martha's sprained wrist hampered her a bit, so the process was slow, but it was one of the few things she could do to help at the moment. Her current superpower was being able to penetrate Curtis' Time Lord-resistant shell. She would have more work cut out for her, soon enough.

"Doctor, it's five minutes after midnight," Martha said. "We'd better get up to their flat."

"Yeah… let's go."

And once again, as if on cue, Martha's mobile phone rang.

"Wow, these guys have impeccable timing," she said, opening her phone. "Hi, Tim."

"Hi, Martha," Tim said, with a sigh. "Okay, before I say anything else… I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to lose my temper."

"It's all right," she said. "Emotions are running high – it's a dramatic time."

"Thanks for saying that," he told her. "But I'm still sorry."

"So, does that mean Curtis talked to you?"

"About what?" Tim asked.

"About how he'd made a decision about what to do."

"Er, no… actually, that's what I'm phoning you about. Actually, two things."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Tim said. "There's something I want you to see. Can you come to the flat?"

"We're parked right outside," Martha told him. "We were just going to come up anyway."

"Great. See you in a mo'."

The Doctor and Martha locked up the TARDIS, and made their way up the stairs to the Malmays' abode. They didn't even have a chance to rap on the door before Tim opened it.

"You'll never guess what's happened," he said, ushering them in.

Upon entering the front parlour, the Doctor and Martha realised that there was someone sitting on the outdated tartan sofa. Someone who was not Curtis.

"Oh!" the Doctor said, fixing his eyes on her. "Hello."

"Hi," the young woman on the sofa said, with a little wave.

"Are you…" Martha began to ask her.

"Doctor, Martha," Tim said. "Meet Stephanie Havilland."

* * *

**At last a TWIST! Please let me know what you think! I would love a review from you... it would make my day! :-)**

**Thank you for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for the slow progress, folks. I'm struggling with this one a bit!**

**When last we saw Curtis, he had announced that he was ready to let the Doctor possibly mess with his brain chemistry, for the sake of Stephanie Havilland. And now, Stephanie Havilland is sitting in the Malmays' parlour!**

**So what's up? Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

NINE

The Doctor and Martha both shook hands with Stephanie Havilland, who had turned up at the Malmays' flat, and was now standing, smiling, in front of the tartan sofa.

Tim had snuck out of the room, and returned with two chairs from the kitchen for the Doctor and Martha. They accepted them, and sat across the coffee table from Stephanie. He disappeared again, momentarily and returned with two mugs of tea, one for himself and one for Stephanie.

"Can I get you two some tea, as well?" he asked.

The Doctor and Martha declined, far too fascinated with this turn of events.

"Erm… Tim… Stephanie… wh… why… how… where do I start?" the Doctor said.

"Stephanie knocked on my door about five minutes ago," Tim said, "And when I opened it, I almost passed out."

"Yeah, I noticed that," Stephanie said, with a smile. "You haven't told me why."

Tim was not wearing his forest green and orange jacket at the moment. Rather, it was draped over a the arm of the sofa. He dug into the pocket and produced something, handing it to Stephanie.

"Wh…" she said, moving slightly away from him on the sofa. "Why do you have this?"

It was clearly the photo of herself that Daniel Edge had given Tim.

Come to that, Stephanie looked exactly like she did in her photo. Stick-straight, reddish hair grown just past her shoulders, big green eyes, a wide smile with even white teeth – almost a flawless girl-next-door. She was wearing jeans, the same Converse trainers as the Doctor (only in black and white), and a white tee-shirt with a cartoon rabbit on it, with a caption that said, "Boys lie, and kind of stink." Her keys were on the coffee table. There was a fob with a little frame that said "BFFs" on it, and a photograph of her, with another girl, presumably her best friend.

She gave off a "sweet" vibe, to be sure, but she also had a little something extra. Her eyes sparkled. Her face was expressive and nuanced. Something about the way she sat on the sofa with her knees together and her elbows resting on them, and her hands clasped beneath her chin, suggested a kind of grace. She had a _je ne sais quoi,_ and the Doctor, who had called her merely "pretty" when he'd seen her picture, now understood the appeal, and how she'd got under Daniel Edge's skin.

The Doctor thought it strange to see her there, of course, but also quite a windfall of luck. This was the very woman they were all trying to protect. Knowing first-hand that she was safe, and with them, could significantly open up their options for dealing with Edge.

But before Tim revealed to her why her photo was in his jacket, the Doctor thought it would be more prudent for _her _to reveal why she was there.

"Hang on a tic," the Doctor interrupted. "Forgive me, er, Stephanie, but what brings you here tonight, dear?"

She looked at Tim, who said, "It's all right. You can tell them. I mean, if you're here to see me, then you might as well talk to them, too."

Stephanie, wide-eyed, somewhat nervous, but with a voice that sang, said, "Well, I had heard through the grape vine that there was a bloke in Leeds who could take care of problems for you. I assumed that meant, you know, if the price was right, and that it would be illegal. But learned on the internet that it's not about the price, it's about the level of need, and the basic… well, innocuousness of the request. They say he turns down people who ask for gobs of money, and that sort of thing."

"That's about the size of it," Tim agreed.

"Wait… the internet?" the Doctor asked.

"Curtis is viral," Martha muttered. "Damn it, we should've known this would happen. Why didn't we know this would happen?"

"Okay, yeah, one thing at a time," the Doctor said. "And with what sort of problem would you be seeking help?"

She sighed. "Do you know who Daniel Edge is?"

There was almost a collective groan in the room from Tim, the Doctor, and Martha.

"Yes, we do," Tim said.

"Let me guess," Martha said. "He's pursuing you aggressively and won't back the hell off."

"Yes! How'd you know?"

"Is he starting to scare you?" she asked.

"He is!" Stephanie answered. "At first it was just flirtation, so I didn't mind it. But then he asked me out… I didn't want to get involved with him, and that family, so I said no. I thought that would be that."

"No such luck," Martha said.

"Not even close!" Stephanie cried, exasperated. "He does not take _no_ for an answer! He asked and asked and asked, kept upping the ante – he'd take me to the Ritz, he'd take me up in the helicopter, he'd take me to fancy parties and meet famous people, he'd take me to Saint-Tropez... but all of that sounds terrifying to me. I'm a simple person, simple tastes, and I want to be with other simple people. I mean, none of that is me!"

"You don't have to justify yourself to us," the Doctor said.

She continued anyway. "I don't want to be with someone who's in the spotlight, who has scary connections and owns bloody casinos and whatnot. And I certainly don't need to be anywhere alone with someone who so blatantly doesn't hear the word _no!"_

"Everything else aside, there's that," Martha said, with some finality.

"And to be with anyone like that in the long-term would be so exhausting," Stephanie added, illustrating this by sitting back on the sofa with a big exhale.

"What finally brought you here? I mean, what made you think that Edge was a problem that only Curtis Malmay could solve?" the Doctor wondered.

"The last time I saw Daniel, he 'casually' told me that he knew where I lived, and knew my flatmate's name, and knew her class schedule."

"What a prince," Martha commented.

"He tried to pretend it was just a casual conversation, but he's such a prat, and so transparent. Not in so many words, he basically said he knew people in the records office at the university, and implied that he could have my enrollment wiped away, my transcript, all of my records and hard work. And my flatmate's." She sighed, and sat forward again.

"He hasn't threatened you physically yet?" the Doctor asked.

"Not yet, but I reckon it's just a matter of time," Stephanie shrugged. "He's aggressive and powerful and used to getting what he wants."

"Indeed," the Doctor agreed.

"All my friends seemed to think that going to the police with a complaint about the Edge family wouldn't do any bloody good, and I think that's probably true. So I started asking around, and someone directed me to this website called Carrie's List, where there are entries for different companies and whatnot, that provide a variety of services. They told me to dig deep, so I tried to do that. I was looking into private investigators, and in the comments section for one of them, someone had written something like, 'forget this guy, there's a bloke in Leeds who can do stuff for you, lickety split, even more quickly and efficiently.' I scrolled down… some people thought he was full of it, others said they knew about the bloke in Leeds, as well. I got in touch with one of them… and here I am. I knew I was taking a chance coming here, but I reasoned that whatever could happen to me here, meeting with strange men at a council estate, couldn't be any worse than what Daniel might eventually do to me."

"And what were you hoping that the Bloke in Leeds would do?" the Doctor wondered. "His name is Curtis, by the way."

"I have no idea," she said. "I don't even know… _what he does_. But so many people swear by his abilities – even a few people at the university said they'd heard about him…"

"That's so odd, because it's not like we've helped _that many _people…" Tim said.

"People exaggerate," Martha muttered. "The internet is a lovely place, isn't it?"

"Yeah, and it's going to get worse before it gets better," the Doctor said absently, but with authority.

"How did you meet Daniel Edge?" asked Martha.

"At a finance seminar in London," Stephanie answered. "There were guest speakers in the conference rooms and on the main floor, booths where you could sign up for camps and smaller, more specific seminars and hiring programmes and whatnot. My professor was a speaker, and another student and I went to assist. The Edge family had several booths. I told him I was a student at Middlesex, and he tracked me down there, and has several times been waiting for me outside my classes when I've finished."

"That's creepy," Martha commented.

"You know," Stephanie said, cocking her head to one said. "He knows where I go to uni – it helped him find me so he could stalk me. But in all this time, he's never asked what I study, or what I was doing at that conference. He just keeps trying to get me to go out with him. Or sleep with him. Probably like a trophy or something."

"Well, you don't have to be anyone's trophy," Martha assured her. "We're going to take care of this."

"You are?" Stephanie asked.

"Yes," the Doctor answered.

"Who are you?"

"Well… Curtis solves problems his way," the Doctor said. "But his way causes more problems. Martha and I solve _those_ problems, and we're currently working on a way to solve _his_ problem, and _your _problem, without causing further problems."

Stephanie blinked hard. "I'm sorry… what?"

"Look," Tim interceded. "Let's just get all the cards out onto the table. Stephanie, Daniel Edge came to us on Monday afternoon, hoping Curtis could solve the problem of… you."

"The problem of me?" she asked, shocked. "What does that mean? That I wouldn't just say yes?"

"Yep," he confirmed. "He wanted Curtis to try and force you."

"What?" she said, getting to her feet quickly.

"Which I had to forbid," Tim said, putting up his hands defensively. "Because… well, obviously, it wouldn't be right, and my brother, bless him, doesn't fully understand why. But Edge gave us a wad of money and a deadline…"

"And that's when they called us," the Doctor told her. "To figure out how to get free of being beholden to and/or pissing off the Edge family, without becoming accessories to rape."

"Oh," Stephanie said, sitting down on the sofa. "And have you worked out a way?"

"Maybe, but it's going to cause…"

"…problems," Stephanie finished. "Got it."

"More than just problems," Tim said. "It might destroy my brother."

"Now, that's a bit of an overstatement, Tim," said the Doctor. "Besides, Tim, that's what Martha and I came to do – pick up Curtis and take him, erm… to where we take people."

"Yeah," Martha said. "We spoke to him about an hour and a half ago, and he said he's willing to risk the solution we told you about. For Stephanie's sake."

"Wait, what does that mean?" Stephanie said.

For the moment, her question went ignored.

"What the hell do you mean, he's willing to risk it?" Tim asked, hands on hips, agitated again. "And how could you have talked to him?"

"He said he stormed out because you were being a prat," the Doctor said. "Then phoned us."

"Okay, I kind of was," Tim conceded.

"We met up with him at that chip shop around the corner, and he said he felt cursed, and he wanted to do whatever it took to be rid of his ability," Martha explained. "And specifically _this_ consequence of his ability."

"Wait, wait," the Doctor said holding out both hands. "He hasn't come home yet?"

"No," Tim said.

The Doctor looked at Martha. "He left the chip shop at half ten. Said he was going to come home to break the news to Tim."

"Yeah, he did," she agreed.

"So where is he?" Tim wondered, even more concerned now.

"Well, now, that's the question isn't it?" the Doctor asked, irritated.

"Hang on," Tim said, and he disappeared down the hall. He came back twenty seconds later and said, "The drawing is gone."

"What drawing?" the Doctor wondered.

"The one he started of…" Tim said, gesturing toward Stephanie. "The one with no faces."

Martha's eyes got very large, and she stood up. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Tim confirmed. "My brother is a creature of habit. He keeps his sketchbooks in his second drawer, and the drawings in the sketchbooks. The sketchbook he used is there, but the drawing isn't in it!"

"Why would he have taken it with him?" Martha wondered.

"God only knows!"

"Wait, what is so special about the drawing?" Stephanie asked, confused, now standing up, as well.

The three of them just looked at her for a few moments, while they all contemplated how to explain.

The Doctor gave a great sigh, and reckoned that since they were now in the territory of the truly weird, it was on him to explain. He joined them all, standing.

"Okay, Stephanie," he said. "This is going to be hard for you to believe, but I'm going to need you to keep an open mind, okay?"

She frowned. "Erm… okay…" she said, very slowly, clearly not trusting him.

"Do you believe in… okay, let's say, phenomena outside of what humans consider to be the norm?"

She put her hands on her hips. "What the hell are you on about?"

"Just answer the question."

"Well," she said, putting her hands down. "I suppose… not really. Do you mean like ghosts and magic?"

"More like aliens."

"Oh, that… that's different. I mean, we've got evidence now, haven't we?"

"We have," the Doctor conceded. "Okay, so then keep in mind that what I'm about to tell you is _alien_, and not _paranormal._"

"Okay," she said, again sounding rather mistrustful.

"And that there's a scientific explanation for all of it."

"Okay."

"Curtis can manipulate reality with his drawings."

Stephanie was silent, as her eyes flitted from one face to another, for several moments. Then she put out one index finger in a show of toughness, and said, "Look, I didn't come here to be mocked."

"I swear, it's the truth," the Doctor assured her. "Curtis is autistic. There's a neurotransmitter in his brain that does not fire at the typical level, which causes some of the symptoms of his autism, but it also happens to put his mind in synch with a galaxy across the universe, where the inhabitants can manipulate reality."

"That's insane," Stephanie said, meekly. Tears were coming to her eyes. The Doctor didn't know if this was because she was feeling overwhelmed by the information, or because she was sorely regretting coming here, and was, in fact, terrified of the people surrounding her.

"It sounds like it, I know," the Doctor conceded, careful to be gentle. "But it's true."

"It is," Martha added. "Because of it, he can channel the power of that galaxy, combined with his extraordinary artistic talent, and cause things to… manifest. Daniel Edge wanted Curtis to draw a picture of him, of Edge, having sex with you."

Tears fell now. "What?" Stephanie asked, her face crumpling and creasing.

"He was specific that it needed to be consensual sex," Tim said. "Because he didn't want to be accused of rape. But how could it _ever_ be consensual?"

"It couldn't," she squeaked.

"And that's why we're all standing here talking about it, instead of enjoying the money Edge paid us," Tim said, with finality.

"So, all he'd have to do is basically draw a pornographic sketch of me and Daniel, and the two of you could be financially secure for life?" she asked.

"That's right," Tim said.

"But you're forbidding him to do the drawing?"

"That's right," he repeated.

"Because of me? A stranger?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my God," Stephanie whimpered. "What happens if he doesn't do the drawing? What has Daniel threatened to do?"

There was silence.

"Do you really want to know?" the Doctor asked her, gently.

"Yes!"

The other three looked at each other with resigned dread.

"He's threatened either to kill _you,_ maim Curtis' hands, or both," the Doctor told her.

Stephanie sat back down on the sofa. She buried her face in her hands and cried.

Martha crossed to the sofa, and sat down beside her, knowing that both men would be afraid to. "I know… it's a lot," she said, and she put her hand on Stephanie's back. To her surprise, the young woman leaned into her, so Martha put her arm around her, and let her weep.

The Doctor and Tim sat back down in kitchen chairs, and waited.

Within a couple of minutes, Stephanie had calmed, and she wiped her eyes. "You guys aren't fucking with me are you?" she asked. It wasn't actually a question, but rather, a realisation.

"No, we're not," the Doctor said.

"And Curtis was supposed to come home when? An hour ago?" she asked.

"Oh shit!" Tim said, jumping up to his feet again. "Yes! Where the hell is he?"

The Doctor sighed. "Tim, I think we have to accept the possibility that Edge intercepted him."

"Goddamn it!" Tim shouted. "Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

It occurred to Martha and the Doctor separately that Curtis' absence should have been much more conspicuous than it was, and the panic should have surged long before now. But this conversation with Stephanie _needed_ to happen. If nothing else, her presence was understandably distracting. But also, probably helpful, in the end.

"When was the deadline?" Stephanie asked.

The Doctor said, "Today. Thursday, that is… it's just after midnight now."

"You were right," Tim hissed. "You said he might come after us just after midnight because the arsehole doesn't play fair."

"Yeah, well, this isn't my first rodeo," the Doctor muttered. "The important thing now is that Daniel Edge probably has Curtis, and the drawing he started."

"Oh!" Stephanie piped up. "He started the drawing! Of me and Daniel, and there's no face… that's what you were talking about before!"

"Yes," Martha told her. "He said he did it because he didn't know what else to do. Sorry."

"So, you can tell what's going on in the drawing, but not _who_ anyone is?" Stephanie confirmed.

"That's right," the Doctor said. "But Edge could probably force him to finish it."

"Then we'd better find them," Stephanie said.

"How?" asked Tim.

"Drive around?"

"And then what? Yell out the window?"

"No," the Doctor said. "Go to posh hotels. Go to casinos. Go to places where a guy like Edge might frequent. It's a start, anyway."

"Okay," said Tim, swallowing hard, clearly trying not to cry. "Let's do it. We'll find Curtis."

"Do you mind driving?" the Doctor asked Stephanie.

* * *

**Uh-oh!**

**Having any thoughts? Please let me know! Reviews are love - they honestly are. :-)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Stephanie Havilland has now entered their lives, and has proven herself to be a charismatic and empathetic individual. But first things first: where the hell is Curtis? Did Daniel Edge intercept him, and if so, where did the bastard take him?**

**Get ready for kind of a nasty cliffhanger...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

TEN

Stephanie Havilland owned a blue hatchback car of some sort, that looked and ran like it was about ten years old, and most definitely needed an oil change. It didn't have much room, but it was fine for four people who weren't particularly large (the Doctor was tall but not broad, and he was thanking the gods of regeneration for that fact, just now).

"Okay, then," Stephanie said, pulling out of the estate. "Where are we headed?"

"Well, we can try some of the posh hotels in town," the Doctor suggested.

"Where are there posh hotels in Leeds?" Tim wondered, sounding a bit incredulous.

"I dunno," answered the Time Lord. "You're the one who lives here."

"I've lived here for like six weeks, and do I look like I stay in posh hotels?"

Martha had already pulled out her phone, and begun to search. "Looks like the Quebecs Hotel might be our best bet," she said. She read off the address, and Tim very shakily pointed Stephanie in the right direction.

"Okay, so, if this doesn't work, then what?" Stephanie asked.

"I hate to say it, Stephanie, but you're the only one of us who knows Daniel Edge at all," the Doctor said. "I'm afraid that if anyone were to guess where he might take Curtis, you'd have the best chance at being right."

"Oh God," she groaned, knowing that the Doctor was right, but also feeling buggered. "All I know is that he likes to party, he makes a big _show_ out of everything, and he's got zero sense of accountability."

"So, what does that add up to?" Martha asked.

The car was quiet for a few moments, except for Tim, giving directions without much confidence.

"He likes to party, makes a show of everything, and no accountability," Martha muttered.

"Is anyone else picturing him sniffing cocaine on the stage of a night club?" Tim asked.

"Well, now I am!" Stephanie shrieked.

"Night club, though," the Doctor said. "That's not bad. Is there any way to find out if he's got any friends, connections with night club owners in Leeds? Those places are secretive, sometimes dodgy, they usually have dark rooms in the back…"

"Ugh," Tim groaned.

"Sorry," the Doctor whispered, patting Tim on the shoulder, realising he'd forgotten himself for just a moment. They weren't just looking for Daniel Edge. They were looking for Tim's very probably kidnapped brother, who had only a limited capacity to fend for himself, especially in highly nuanced, sensitive situations. "We'll find him, Tim."

Tim nodded, and swallowed hard. He continued to give directions to Stephanie, until they reached a Victorian-era red stone building. "Okay… here it is," he said. "It's a miracle I got us here."

"Well, now that we're here, what do we do?" Stephanie asked. "It's not like we can just walk in there and ask whether Daniel Edge is a guest here."

"Leave it to me," the Doctor said, climbing out of the car.

"Leave it to us," Martha corrected, also climbing out. As an afterthought, she said, "We'll be back in a mo'. Don't go anywhere."

* * *

"Welcome to the Quebecs Hotel, sir, madam," said a woman behind the large, mahogany desk in the lobby. "May I book you in a room for the night?"

The Doctor flashed the psychic paper, and said, "Detective Inspectors Smith and Jones, London Metropolitan. Wondering if you can help us with something."

"Oh! Oh, yes, sir, erm… and ma'am. If it is within my power."

"Have you have any, say, notable guests in the last week or so?" the Doctor asked.

"Notable, how?"

"Notable in the sense that perhaps the tabloids might be interested."

Martha chimed in, "Any guest who asked for discretion. Any guest who seemed _familiar _to you."

"What, like a famous person?" she asked, her businesslike demeanour dropping away slightly.

"Exactly," the Doctor said. "Or someone who fancies themselves as such."

"Who are you looking for?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"If I knew, then maybe I could tell you if I've seen them."

"Have you had any guests of late, like the one I'm describing?" the Doctor asked, with finality, and a hint of weariness.

"No," she admitted. "Nothing like that."

The Doctor simply walked away.

Martha, however, had the presence of mind to say, "Thanks for your time," before following the Doctor back out to the street.

Stephanie's car was still there, so they climbed in.

"He hasn't been here," the Doctor said.

"Well, it was a long-shot," Tim said, as the Doctor and Martha clicked their seatbelts. "Any bloody place we try is going to be a long-shot. But Stephanie had a thought."

"Yeah," she said. "When you asked about connections, I remembered that Daniel tried to charm me with an invitation to a party at the Devenish mansion."

"Devenish? As in, Trace Devenish?" Martha asked.

"Yes," Stephanie said. "And don't they own a bunch of pubs and clubs?"

"They own a shell company that owns a bunch of pubs and clubs," Martha said, once again pulling out her phone. After a pause, she said, "Looks like that shell company is associated with three establishments in Leeds, the closest is All Bar One." Again, she read out the address, and Tim tried to get them there.

* * *

When the Doctor and Martha's Smith and Jones routine yielded nothing at All Bar One, nor at the other two Devenish-owned bars and clubs (even after being allowed to inspect the back rooms), they slid once more into the backseat of Stephanie's hatchback.

"Okay, then," Tim said, with a sigh, as they peeled away from the kerb. "Anybody got other ideas? Stephanie, can you think of anything else that you know about Edge?"

"No," Stephanie said. "No, I'm not driving to any other shot-in-the-dark places until I get some answers."

She swerved to the side of the road, and landed in front of a parking metre.

"What sort of answers?" Martha asked.

"Er, hang on," said Tim. "We can't park here unless…"

The Doctor aimed the sonic screwdriver at the parking meter, and the thing began to tick. "There. We've got fifteen minutes."

Stephanie's jaw dropped. Then she turned sideways in her seat to address her backseat passengers. "Let's start with who the hell you two are."

The Doctor sighed, having known this was coming, sooner or later.

Martha looked at the Doctor, who wasn't about to say anything in a decent amount of time, so she spoke first. "We haven't lied to you, Stephanie. We told you that what's going on has alien origins… well, we investigate things of alien origin."

"That's putting it mildly," Tim muttered.

"What, like the X-files?" she asked.

"No," Martha said. "More freelance than that. And a lot more competent. I'm a doctor. A physician, I mean. I'm from London, like you, which you probably already worked out. Until about four weeks ago, I worked for UNIT, do you know what that is?"

"Yes," Stephanie said. "They're the… _weird_ branch of the military."

"Right," Martha said. "But I never would have got that job without this guy. This is _the _Doctor."

"So you said. What the hell does that mean?"

The Doctor frowned, and made eye-contact with no-one. He didn't speak, but he also didn't stop Martha from saying anything.

"He's the expert. If you've got an alien problem, or a disaster of global proportions, this is the man you want on your side. He's the guy that even UNIT call when things get too weird, even for them. He knows more about things outside of this planet than everyone on this planet combined."

"How?" Stephanie asked, nonplussed, looking the Doctor over. "I mean…"

"You said you believe in life outside of this planet, Stephanie, because you seem quite clever," the Doctor suddenly chimed in. "So I think a part of your brain has already got there."

She looked him over, and he dared to actually look her in the eye.

"But…" she said, meekly, after a heavily pregnant pause. "You look human."

"So do a lot of species in the universe, believe it or not," he said. "The upright, what you call _humanoid _body structure is surprisingly advantageous throughout the universe."

Stephanie was quiet for a few moments, as was everyone else. She studied him. She seemed to be examining his facial features, perhaps looking for anomalies.

"You're an alien? Really?"

He nodded. "Yep. Still the same guy, though. If you liked me before, you can still like me – nothing's changed. I still want what's best for Curtis, and Tim, and you, and if possible, even for Edge. Ultimately, I want what's best for this planet, and all planets."

"He's not lying," Tim told Stephanie. "I've seen him work."

"All right, then tell me more about Curtis," she said. "You told me… he's autistic?"

"Yes," Tim said. "I've been looking after him since our parents died. He's ultra-clever, ultra-talented, and he's higher and higher functioning each day, it seems."

"And his autism, or rather, some of the neurochemistry associated with it, gives him the ability to manipulate reality through his drawings," the Doctor said. "This thing with you, Stephanie… well, we've been considering it our primary problem. Making sure that you don't get raped or killed is paramount, and to be honest, is a more or less _human _issue that… well, there are definitely people better-qualified to deal with it than me. Starting with, perhaps, the police. But they might be in Edge's pocket… in fact, I think it's fairly likely, and is why you didn't call them yourself.

"But secondary is the fact that Curtis is trapped with this unbelievable power, that causes a lot of problems. That's really my wheelhouse right there. Bizarre things happening in the cosmos, affecting real people's lives, you can call me. That might as well be tattooed on my arm as a manifesto. Which is why, Stephanie, we have a solution that might sever Curtis' connection with the source of his power, but as you might have noticed, we have zero plans in the way of any _practical_ method of dealing with Daniel Edge. Frankly, having you here in our midst is reassuring, because it means we can know that you're safe. However, now we have Curtis' physical _person _to worry about, and not just his brain."

"Not to mention the fact that he's probably got that bloody drawing on him," Tim said.

The Doctor pulled his hand down over his face. "Yeah. Blimey."

"What's the solution?" Stephanie asked him.

"It doesn't matter," Tim said. "Because it's out of the question, anyway."

"The solution is using a magnetic field that exists in a different galaxy to interfere with the… er… _signal_ between the reality manipulation, and Curtis. And possibly between Curtis and his drawings, and maybe even the people who know about his talent."

"But it will leave him a vegetable," Tim said.

"No, it won't," Martha said. "Where's _that _coming from?"

"Oh sure, he'll be conscious," Tim argued. "But he'll be like everyone else! If he's not quirky and awkward and pernickety and irritable and a little juvenile, and all the things that are Curtis, then he might as well be a fucking courgette."

"That is not how Curtis feels about it, Tim," Martha said. "He came to us. He said he was willing…"

"He must not understand the consequences fully," said Tim.

"He does," the Doctor said. "And he wants to give it a go, for Stephanie's sake. But it's all moot if we can't bloody find him. And I'm sorry to point this out, children, but we're wasting time sitting here!"

"You said before that Curtis was holding off from finishing the drawing, risking his life for me, a stranger, so I don't get raped," Stephanie said to Tim. "And now, they're telling me he's willing to risk his brain?"

Tim sighed. He was quiet for a while, then he said, "I admit, it does sound like him. He doesn't understand nuance, which makes him extreme and totally selfless at times. Almost to a fault."

"From what I'm gathering here, Curtis embraces his autism," Stephanie said.

"He does," Tim said.

"And so do those who love him," Martha said, gently, squeezing Tim's shoulder. "Perhaps even more than Curtis himself."

"He's quirky and weird and special and he likes who he is," Stephanie said. "Has he ever held a job?"

Tim shook his head. "No. I'm starting to think he could, though."

"But he wouldn't know how to live in the world if suddenly he were just… cured."

"If he were suddenly neurotypical," Tim corrected. "Yeah… I suppose it would be a huge adjustment. As big an adjustment as if one of us were suddenly autistic."

Stephanie let out a huge sigh, then turned in her seat, stuck the keys back in the ignition, and started the car again, peeling once more away from the kerb.

"You okay?" the Doctor asked her, as they merged into traffic.

"No," she responded, and from her tone, they could tell she was crying again.

"It's a rubbish situation, isn't it?" Martha asked her. "There's just no way to win it."

After another silent few minutes, Tim said, "Stephanie, I don't want you to think that I believe Curtis is more important than you in some way. I'm sorry this is happening, I just… I…"

"It's okay," she said, sniffing.

"No… it's not. I mean… maybe Curtis becoming a courgette _is_ better than you getting raped."

She chuckled. "Forever neurologically changed, versus a temporary humiliation for me. Yeah, sounds like a perfect trade."

* * *

Dr. Jones did another quick bit of research and discovered that the Edge family owns a shell company that owns another shell company, that had already broken ground for a hotel just outside of town. They tried the construction site, but it was deserted, as was the business trailer.

Then Smith and Jones tried another upscale pub, to no avail. Not that they really expected much.

"I've been thinking, Doctor," Martha said. "We're going to need a fast go-to, if things get bad."

"I know, I know," he said, burying one hand in his hair, and pulling tight. He thought for a moment and said, "I mean, I suppose we could…"

After he didn't finish, she asked, "What?"

He sighed. "No. We couldn't."

"What are you thinking?" Tim wondered. "If you have an idea, we should talk about it."

"Well, for the magnetic field to work on Curtis specifically, we'd have to take him in the TARDIS and experiment with it… that's what we came to your flat tonight to do," the Doctor said. "But now fifty per cent of that equation is gone – we've got access to the magnetic field – the Axiothe Field – but not to Curtis."

"Right. With you."

"The best-case scenario has always been, not only does the Axiothe Field interfere with Curtis, but with anyone who has ever asked him for a drawing. And now that we know that he's gone viral, and there are people even in London who know about what he can do…"

"Ugh, I don't like what's coming," Martha groaned.

"Why? What's coming?" Tim wondered.

"I could rig a way for the Axiothe field just to zap the whole town of Leeds and hope for the best," he said.

"What?" Stephanie shouted. "That's mental!"

"I don't disagree," the Doctor said. "It's got, I'd say, a sixty per cent chance of working, but it would work on everyone in town, along with Curtis. But to be quite thorough, we'd have to do the whole of Britain, in the next few days. It would erase Curtis' ability from the memory of everyone in this country, including you, Tim. Curtis would be your quirky autistic brother, but he'll never have been a guy who could manipulate reality. You might not even remember me and Martha. And all that business with the D&D characters from a month ago… they might vanish. Certainly people would forget it ever happened. And, of course, the Daniel Edge problem goes away. He'd forget, along with everyone else."

"That sounds big," Tim breathed.

"So, our best bet at the moment, with the circumstances we've been given, is to zap an entire country with selective amnesia," Stephanie surmised.

"Yeah, in a nutshell," the Doctor agreed.

"That's not right. It's a violation of… something."

"I suppose it is, yeah," he shrugged, feeling buggered again.

"Isn't that the sort of thing you set out to avoid, by not letting Daniel get to me?" she asked them all.

Everyone was silent. "Yeah," the Doctor whispered.

"But it's the only option we've got?"

"At the moment."

"Okay, here's the plan," Stephanie said. "We're going to find Daniel Edge, and then we're going to trade me for Curtis."

"What?" Martha asked, shocked.

"Oh, come on," Stephanie whined, tears coming again. "This all started because you lot are all trying to protect me. Me. One person, versus millions. I'll sleep with the bastard, for God's sake. Let's just find him!"

"No!" Martha insisted.

"If Curtis was willing to sacrifice his sanity for me, then I can have sex with a repellent human being for him," Stephanie insisted right back.

"It won't just be one time, Stephanie!"

"I know. I'll do whatever I have to. He wants me, he can have me. I'll consent. I'll give him whatever he wants."

"No!"

"No!" Tim echoed.

The Doctor noted Tim's semi-panicked reaction to this revelation, then sighed deeply, and sat back in his seat. He watched the city pass outside the windows.

"Stephanie, we can't let you do that!" from Martha.

"You don't get a say. It's my body, my choice. This ends now!"

"He will usurp your whole life, your whole identity," Martha said. "You said he never asked about what you study or what your ambitions are… he doesn't care. He will swallow them! You'll be a concubine to him, a trophy and nothing more, and you will always feel used!"

"And how is that worse than what might happen to Curtis?" Stephanie asked.

"Doctor," Martha begged. "Can't we use the Axiothe Field to just put a barrier around Stephanie or something? Something that will repel Edge? And anyone he might hire?"

"I would need Edge himself to submit to experimentation," the Doctor answered. "Otherwise, I couldn't do it without making Stephanie repellent to everyone in the world."

Stephanie chuckled. "Great. So, what's worse? Eternal solitude, or a life as Daniel Edge's trophy?"

"You won't have to make that choice," Martha said. "Will she, Doctor?"

He looked at her, but couldn't answer.

"Look, my body, my life. I've made my choice. We trade – you get Curtis, Daniel gets me. Only, let's get more efficient about finding him."

"You sleeping with Edge won't solve Curtis' problem," the Doctor pointed out, very weary of the whole discussion. "Except for getting Edge off his back. He's still going to have the unwanted power, and he might want us to zap him anyway."

"No, he won't," Tim protested.

"Whatever. I'm doing my part," Stephanie said, resolved. "I'm heading back to your place, Tim. We'll regroup. I'll try to get in touch with some people who maybe get in touch with people who could get in touch with people could track him down, so we can make the trade. I'll call my flatmate in London…"

"Make the trade?" Martha asked. "What are you, a briefcase full of money?"

"No, no," Stephanie said, lightly, sarcastically. "Daniel's already got oodles of those. He couldn't care less about those."

They arrived back at the estate within a few minutes, no one having said another word. Stephanie was the driver, and she was determined, and frankly, no one had any alternatives that were actually better.

"Wait, what's that?" Martha asked, having seen something strange outside the car window.

"What's what?" Tim wondered.

"Up there…"

"Oh, shit! Stephanie, stop!" the Doctor spat, looking where Martha had been looking.

Stephanie slammed on the breaks, and the Doctor nearly fell out of the car trying to get outside to investigate.

They all piled out, and looked up to the roof where the Doctor's gaze had gone.

Against a backdrop of moonlight, they could now see three men on the roof of the fifteen-story estate building. Two were standing – one of the two was swigging from a bottle. The third man was sitting in a chair, dangerously close to the ledge. They could just about make out his red hoodie in the dimness.

* * *

**Cliffhanger! Almost literally!**

**Thank you for reading... please leave a review, let me know what you're thinkin'! :-)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hopefully, you'll be excited and aggravated by this chapter... I hope it leaves you gasping! Enjoy!**

* * *

ELEVEN

Stephanie had just announced a decision that flummoxed everyone in the car.

"Okay, here's the plan," she had said. "We're going to find Daniel Edge, and then we're going to trade me for Curtis. This all started because you lot are all trying to protect me. Me. One person, versus millions. I'll sleep with the bastard, for God's sake. Let's just find him!"

"No!" Martha cried out.

"No!" Tim cried out.

The Doctor noted Tim's semi-panicked reaction to this revelation, then sighed deeply, and sat back in his seat. He watched the city pass outside the windows.

"Look, it's my body, it's my life. I've made my choice. We trade – you get Curtis, Daniel gets me. Let's get more efficient about finding him."

"You sleeping with Edge won't solve Curtis' problem," the Doctor pointed out, very weary of the whole discussion. "Except for getting Edge off his back."

"Whatever. I'm doing my part," Stephanie said, resolved. "I'm heading back to your place, Tim. We'll regroup. I'll try to get in touch with some people who maybe get in touch with people who could get in touch with people could track him down, so we can make the trade. I'll call my flatmate in London…"

"Make the trade?" Martha asked. "What are you, a briefcase full of money?"

"No, no," Stephanie said, lightly, sarcastically. "Daniel's already got oodles of those. He couldn't care less about those."

They arrived back at the estate within a few minutes, no one having said another word. Stephanie was the driver, and she was determined, and frankly, no one had any alternatives that were actually better.

"Wait, what's that?" Martha asked.

"What's what?" Tim wondered.

"Up there…"

"Oh, shit! Stephanie, stop!" the Doctor spat.

She slammed on the breaks, and the Doctor nearly fell out of the car trying to get outside to investigate.

They all piled out of the car, and looked up to the roof where the Doctor's gaze had gone.

Against a backdrop of moonlight, they could now see three men on the roof of the fifteen-story estate building. Two were standing – one of the two was swigging from a bottle. The third man was sitting in a chair, dangerously close to the ledge. They could just about make out his red hoodie in the dimness.

"Oh my God," Tim breathed, now more panicked than ever. He was possibly now more panicked than he had ever been in his whole live. "Oh my God, oh my God! Cur…"

The Doctor managed to stumble round the vehicle and get his arm round Tim's head and mouth before he could shout his brother's name. A rational Tim would have realised that it was a stupid thing to do, under the circumstances, but this was hardly a rational Tim.

"Shush!" the Doctor scolded. "If we want the element of surprise, we can't let them know we're here. And we can't spook Curtis and cause him to jolt and fall."

Tim was now sobbing, but nodding in agreement.

The Doctor let go of him, and Tim turned to the nearest person, which was Stephanie, and completely broke down on her shoulder. Stephanie hugged him, but looked up at the roof, as tears streamed down her own face.

"We need a plan," Martha said.

"We need to get up there," the Doctor said. "We need to know what they're saying to him, how unhinged Edge is, and/or how drunk, how violent, et cetera, et cetera…"

"And we need to know how Curtis is holding up," Martha said, now simply walking briskly toward the building. The Doctor began to follow, as did Stephanie and Tim. "Not to mention how far along that drawing is."

The lift arrived and the four of them got inside.

"Tim," the Doctor said. "I don't suppose there's any way you'd go back to your flat and keep yourself safe?"

"No fucking way," muttered the red-eyed man.

"Fine. In that case, give Stephanie the key to your flat." He pressed the button that would take the lift to Tim and Curtis' floor.

"No! I'm coming up there with you!" Stephanie shrieked. "This all started because of me!"

"No, it didn't. None of this is because of anything you did. None of this is your responsibility," the Doctor said. "Besides, I don't want Edge having any ghost of an inkling that you're here in Leeds. He can't know you're working against him! And he can't think that you're within convenient reach."

"I'll keep out of sight!" she begged.

"The most vulnerable person in this weird little drama is currently sitting on the edge of the roof in a chair wielded by a drunk, power-hungry, six-foot toddler, Stephanie. You said yourself, he likes to party, he makes a show of everything, and has zero accountability," the Doctor said, at about a million words per minute. "Curtis is already in Edge's clutches – we have to save him, and we have to do it very, very carefully. The second most vulnerable person is you. You are the one he wants. You are the one who will suffer if any one of us cocks this up. At the very least, let's get you out of direct kidnapping range!"

She crossed her arms over her chest, and frowned like a child. The lift door opened and Tim held out his flat key to her. She took it without a word, and walked off the lift without looking back.

Martha pressed the button for the roof, and they all looked at each other ominously as the little cabin rose.

"Was that wrong?" the Doctor asked her.

"No," she responded. "We don't want her sacrificing herself for Curtis, any more than we want Curtis sacrificing himself for her."

Just in time, the Doctor thought to aim the sonic screwdriver at the little arrow-shaped light inside the lift doors, to prevent the "ping" sound from giving them away. The doors opened silently on the roof, and the three of them stepped out carefully.

They were behind a large air conditioning unit, and could not be seen by Edge or his flunkies, or Curtis. They listened.

Edge was drunkenly saying, "I mean… like, it wouldn't be weird at all. The retarded kid with the fucking bizarre ability throws himself off a roof 'cause he can't take it. Yeah, like it wouldn't be weird at all." Then he cackled with inebriated laughter.

"I'm not retarded," Curtis said, actually rather calmly.

"Well, you ain't gonna be thinking right at all, if you don't…" Edge said, his voice ramping up. As he continued, he finished the phrase, screaming. "…do what you're fucking told, you fucking freak!"

"I found it," a more reasonable voice said.

"You peasant!" Edge continued to shout at Curtis.

"Mr. Edge?" said the voice.

"You freak! Retard!"

"Daniel, shut the hell up!" the voice commanded. "Jesus Christ, do you want to wake up the building?"

"I'll just buy the goddamn building," Edge answered. "If it's not infested with rats."

"Whatever. Look, you wanted me to find the fucking drawing, and here's the fucking drawing!"

The Doctor peered around the corner and saw Edge rip the paper out of his sidekick's hand, and ask, "Oh. Where wuzzizit?"

"In his pocket. What does it matter?"

"It matters because… because…" Edge began haughtily. "Actually, I don't know. I just wanted to know, you know?"

"Yeah, well, as you can see, the faces are not there."

"Why the fuck not?" Edge asked.

There was silence.

"Hey, retard! I said, why the fuck didn't you finish my drawing?" Edge yelled.

"I…" they heard Curtis begin. "I…"

"I… I…" Edge mocked. "What, you forgot how to talk the King's English, too?"

"There is no king," Curtis said.

"Who the fuck cares? Finish my drawing!"

"I can't."

"You will, or you'll die, and so will Stephanie, do you hear me?"

"I can't finish the drawing. It would be rape," Curtis said, shakily.

"Ugh, shit, you're stupid," Edge groaned. "It's not rape if it's consensual or something. That's what the law says."

"He just put 'consensual' in air quotes," the Doctor whispered. "That's charming."

"It can't be consensual," Curtis retorted, again, shakily.

"It can if you make it consensual!" Daniel said. "Can't you just write a sentence at the bottom of the drawing that says, _Stephanie Havilland has a big wet wide-on for Daniel Edge's monster dick?_" At that, once again, Edge cackled with delight.

"What?" Curtis asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"It is, you know," Edge added. "A fucking monster. Oooh yeah…"

"I think what my eloquent friend is asking, Mr. Malmay, is, if you can manipulate reality as is purportedly true…" the sidekick began.

"Yeah, purportedly!" shouted Edge.

"…then isn't it true that people's feelings and desires can be manipulated, as well? Can you not implant the desire within Ms. Havilland, to share some quality time with Mr. Edge? And wouldn't a desire on her part make the act consensual?"

"But the desire would be… erm…" Curtis began, but his speech trailed off.

"Uh-oh," Tim whispered.

"What?" Martha asked.

"Now the one with a brain is trying to reason with him. His grasp of all this is pretty shaky as it is," Tim said. "He won't make it through this argument. I've got to help him."

Tim made to move toward the debacle at the ledge.

"No," the Doctor said, stopping him. "Not yet!"

"Well, what are we waiting for? For them to throw him off the building? For him to start crying? What? Are we going to get him out of this, or not?"

"We are, but…"

The Doctor was interrupted by Edge screaming at the top of his lungs, "_You will fucking do it, or you're a fucking stain on that concrete down there, do you understand me, retard? DO IT! DO IT!"_

Tim couldn't help it. He shoved the Doctor out of the way so he could see, just in time to see Daniel Edge violently grab the back of the chair Curtis was in, and tip it forward.

Tim, the Doctor, and Martha all cried out in panic, and surged forward, revealing themselves.

Fortunately, Edge's three henchmen also panicked and surged forward, catching the chair.

Both of the Doctor's hearts, as well as his stomach, were lodged in his throat as they all realised that Curtis was securely tied to the chair, and was not falling to his death… yet. He was suspended fifteen stories over a concrete courtyard, held by two large men, while the third wrestled Edge away from the proceedings. Curtis was screaming uncontrollably.

"Curtis!" Tim shouted, trying to move forward. Again, the Doctor stopped him. If he made a wrong move, things could go horribly, horribly wrong. "Curtis! I'm here! It's okay, mate! We're here!"

Edge immediately calmed down, and became bemused, when he saw Tim. "Ah, you must be the brother. Hi, I'm Daniel Edge. Pleased to make your a-quain-ass. A-quintus. Pleased to…"

"Shut up, Edge! Tell your guys to pull him back up! Now!" Tim shouted. When no-one moved, he screamed "_Now!_"

"Oh, okay," Edge sighed. "I mean, if one of my guys gets an itchy nose, it's splatsville for your bro, and I never get my picture. Bring him back up, boys."

The third flunky, who had been restraining Edge, seemed to sigh with noticeable relief.

The two men holding Curtis' chair pulled him back up onto the roof, and replaced him just at the precipice of the building once more. Curtis stopped screaming, and began to sob.

"Okay, now… who the hell are you two?" Edge asked, looking the Doctor and Martha over. He moved toward them, then seemed to see Martha for the first time. "Actually, I don't care about your friends… I want to know who _you _are." He fluttered his eyebrows at her and licked his lips.

Her stomach turned.

"Er, Daniel?" said the 'reasonable' henchman. "Task at hand?"

"Right," said Edge, turning away from Martha. Then, as an afterthought, he turned back round and said to her, "I'm not done with you yet, my lovely. Give your number to my friend Sam, here. I'll phone you later."

"Well, that won't be happening," she said, rather irritated.

Edge hadn't heard.

"What do you want to do about the drawing?" asked Sam, apparently, the continuing voice of reason.

"What do you mean, what do I want to do? I want him to finish it," Edge said, very slowly, as though his sidekick were a simpleton.

"What, this drawing?" Tim asked, gesturing to the paper in Sam's hand.

"Yes," Sam asked, suspiciously.

"Oh, that's not even Mr. Edge's drawing," Tim said, vamping. "It's for another couple, right Curt?"

"Erm…" was all Curtis could manage. He was not someone who lied well.

"Yeah, I distinctly remember you telling me, Curtis, this was a drawing you did for someone else… you said you hadn't started Mr. Edge's drawing yet. You must've got confused, mate," Tim said.

The Doctor and Martha looked at each other. Tim was a pretty good actor, and pretty good at thinking on his feet (which they already knew), but both reckoned that in this case, it was too little, too late. Especially the _too late _bit.

Daniel Edge took the drawing from Sam, and sauntered over to the roof's perimeter where Curtis sat rather precariously (though much less precariously than two minutes prior). Swerving the whole way, he came up behind Curtis, bent to his ear, and said as quietly as a drunk person ever can, "Well, I don't give a fuck if this drawing is supposed to be of another couple. You're going to finish it tonight, and give me what I want. That girl thinks she can fuck with me, say no to me… well, you'll fix her, right retard?"

"Erm…" from Curtis.

"You'll finish the drawing by noon today," said Edge. "Because tonight's the night. Me and Stephanie – it's happening. Tonight."

"Erm…"

And still right in Curtis' ear, Edge screamed, "_Finish it!_" And he shoved the chair just a touch… not hard enough to cause Curtis to topple over, but enough to scare the hell out of him, and cause everyone in the vicinity (including Edge's henchmen) to cry out.

Curtis was sobbing again. "Okay, okay," he said. "Give it to me – I'll finish it. I'll finish it."

Edge handed him the paper, then tipped the chair back, pulling him out of danger. Sam helped, probably worried that Edge would make a drunken mistake and accidentally kill Curtis or himself. Sam untied Curtis, and the latter looked at his brother for the first time since the whole thing began. Tim tried to go to him, but yet again, the Doctor restrained him, which he realised was wise.

Curtis made a few marks on the page, then said, "Does anyone have a book, or something hard I can draw on?"

"Well, Mr. Edge said you have until noon, right?" the Doctor said.

"That's right, whoever you are," Edge slurred. "By the way, you're not taller than me, you know." The inebriated brat then stumbled over to the Doctor to measure. He was, indeed, about an inch taller than the Time Lord. "Ha!" he spat.

The stench of alcohol assailed the Doctor's senses so violently with that uttered syllable, he actually pulled a face, and stepped back from Daniel Edge, waving away the offensive aroma. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me with this," he complained. "Blimey, I think _I'm _drunk now too. Okay, we've got until noon. It is now just after four a.m. Eight hours to fill in faces. Curtis, let's get you and Tim back to your flat."

"Fine," said Edge. "You peasants go back to your hovel. Me, I'm going back to London so that Stephanie can find me when her loins start to ache."

"Whatever," the Doctor muttered, as Edge laughed again, and Tim crossed to Curtis and hugged him tightly.

The four of them turned to leave, and no-one stopped them. Except…

"Oi, pretty lady," Edge shouted.

"Ugh," Martha grunted as she followed Curtis and Tim toward the lift.

"I'm talking to you!"

"Yeah, I know," she said back.

"What's your name?"

She sighed. "Marlene Dietrich."

The Doctor chuckled.

"Cool," said Edge. "I'll remember that."

* * *

**Well, the real ticking clock begins now! **

**Leave me a review - tell me what you think!**

**Thanks for reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**The delay has been long with chapter 12 because, frankly, I had trouble building chapter 13. (I don't post a chapter until THE NEXT ONE is finished, at least!) So, there are some exciting things on the horizon...**

**For now, we are coming down off the roof from an intense, fifteen-story-high encounter with Daniel Edge that pushed Curtis to the brink, and may still. When we left off, he had promised to finish the drawing by noon, and Edge had gone back to London, convinced that _tonight's the night _with Stephanie. At this point, things are a bit desperate...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

TWELVE

Stephanie was leaning out the door of the Malmays' flat as her four new friends came down the balcony walkway toward her.

"What happened?" she asked. "I heard screaming."

When she spoke, the group was about ten feet away from the door. With Tim in the lead. Curtis stopped in his tracks, seeing Stephanie for the very first time, causing Martha to plow into him.

"It's her. It's you. What are you doing in our flat?" Curtis asked, sounding panicked. He turned toward Tim. "I swear, I swear I didn't do this. I didn't draw her face, Tim, I promise…"

Tears were coming to his eyes as he spoke fast, and anyone could see that Curtis was on the edge of a meltdown.

"No, mate, no, it's okay," Tim said, to his brother, now crying on his shoulder. "She came and found us, to try and get rid of Edge. Go figure, eh?"

"Probably best to get inside now, eh?" the Doctor gently suggested.

Stephanie moved out of the way, and Tim wrestled a reluctant Curtis into the flat, followed by the TARDIS crew, one of whom shut, locked and sonicked the door for good measure.

Tim guided Curtis to the sofa, while the latter was still quite upset. Martha said, "Why don't we go in the kitchen and make some tea for everyone, yeah?" And she urged Stephanie and the Doctor into the next room.

"Okay, now… roof. What the hell happened?" Stephanie asked.

The Doctor and Martha both set about trying to locate some tea bags and mugs. "You can probably guess," the Doctor replied, opening the cabinet over the stove. "They dangled Curtis off the side of the building until he agreed to finish the drawing."

"Is Daniel drunk?"

"Yep," said the Doctor. "And loud, and boorish… and tall, as it turns out."

"Is Curtis going to finish the drawing?" Stephanie whispered, coming in close.

"I don't know what he'll do, to be honest," the Doctor said.

"That's why I should just… you know…" Stephanie said.

"Found them," Martha said pulling a box of tea bags out of a drawer. "And no, Stephanie, that's not why you just give yourself up. That's why it's important for me and the Doctor to get back to the TARDIS and finish our work."

"What's a TARDIS?" asked Stephanie.

"It's my… spsssshhh," the Doctor muttered.

"Your what?"

"His spaceship," Martha sighed. "He's not human, remember? So, that means, many things about him are not human, including how he travels."

The Doctor frowned and checked the kettle for water, then moved to the sink to fill it.

"So, you're going to go back to your spaceship to work on a thing that will zap Curtis' autism away? God, I can't believe I just said that out loud, and in earnest."

"We never said it would just _zap his autism away_," the Doctor replied, without looking at her.

"Yeah, well… near enough, it sounds like."

Martha laid out three mugs, and placed a bag in each one. "Look, Stephanie, your self-sacrifice is admirable, and frankly, if I were in your shoes, I'd probably be inclined to do the same thing, if it meant helping out Curtis. But the Doctor was right before: it only solves one small facet of Curtis' greater problem. It treats a symptom, not the disease."

"Very well said, Dr. Jones," the Doctor commented.

"Well, where is Daniel now?"

"He went back to London. To find you. Because he thinks tonight's the night."

"Ugh," Stephanie said.

"Okay, look," Martha said, bringing milk from the fridge to the counter, speaking with a bit of finality. "The water is boiling, the teabags are ready to go, and here's milk. You know what to do from here. The Doctor and I are…"

"You two are leaving?" Tim said from the doorway.

"Yeah, 'fraid so," the Doctor said.

"You're not going to…"

"Try and perfect the one thing that has any sort of shot at solving our problem with no murder nor rape? Yes, we are," the Doctor told him. "I'm sorry, Tim, but if you've got a better idea, we're all ears."

"I…" Stephanie began.

"Stop it, Stephanie," the Time Lord said, anticipating what she was about to say. "You don't want to be with that guy, and _your_ solution is no different than if Curtis had just given him the drawing days ago. Just consider _your option_ a non-option, all right?"

Tim looked at Stephanie with sad, downturned eyes. "I agree, Steph. Thanks anyway."

"That's a change of tune," the Doctor commented.

"No it's not!"

"It is! Before, you were all about keeping Curtis intact, at all costs."

"But I still wasn't all about having Stephanie turn herself over!"

"Excuse me..." Stephanie interjected.

"The point is, I just talked with Curtis," Tim sighed, leaning his bum against the kitchen table. "I'm convinced. He's got to be the master of his own weirdness, and honestly, _anything_ has got to be better than Stephanie having to submit to that arsehole, whether it's because of reality manipulation, or because she offers herself."

"Are you sure?" she asked him.

He nodded. "I guess I wasn't terribly vocal about it before… I wasn't in favour of it, but I guess I didn't fully understand the implications until I met Edge. If _met _is what you can call it."

Stephanie tutted and pouted a bit, crossing her arms, and walking in a tight circle.

"Okay, look, we have to go," the Doctor said.

"One thing, Doctor," Tim interrupted. "I was able to talk to him a little bit, but he's so mentally taxed…"

The Doctor peeked around the doorjamb at Curtis, who was sitting still as a statue on the sofa. "Looks like he's gone catatonic."

"Near enough. I don't know if you'll be able to get him into the TARDIS right now without some pretty elaborate gymnastics. So to speak. And given what he's been through tonight…"

The Doctor nodded, not surprised to hear this. "Well, given our current time crunch, what we've got in mind is a lot less refined than what we were initially planning, I hate to say. So, I'm thinking… well, a personal item of Curtis' might do it. Or maybe some of his drawings? Maybe both. Tim, would he let us take them?"

"Right now, he may not notice if you set off a bomb in that room, as long as you didn't try to move him," Tim said. "I'd say, go take whatever you need. Don't even ask him. Just make sure it gets returned, please."

"I'll be right back," Martha said, disappearing down the hall.

The Doctor went into the parlour and tried speaking to Curtis, but the man pulled his red hood up over his head and dipped his chin into his chest. He was sitting with the unfinished drawing in his lap, staring at it.

The Doctor accepted this, though wondered what was going through his mind. He went and stood against the wall between the kitchen and parlour.

Behind him, Tim brought two mugs to the table and sat down. Stephanie sat down with him.

"Shouldn't we bring one to Curtis?" she asked.

"He won't even notice it," Tim said. "Let's just wait for him to tell us he's thirsty, or something."

"If you say so," she said, then sipped her tea.

The Doctor now realised he was hearing their conversation, and they may not fully realise it. But it was the only place he could stand without disturbing them, or Curtis. So he stayed put, and waited for Martha.

"So, what will you do when this is all over?" he asked.

"Try to get on with my life," she said. "Avoid the Edge family."

"In London?"

"I guess so."

"Do you think any of the others would try to come after you?" Tim wondered.

"I dunno. He's never given any indication that any other family members even know about me. He only ever talks about his friends. Mostly about what they can do for him."

"Ah yes, his friend in the registry office at the university," Tim remembered. "Is that even true?"

"I actually have no idea," she said. "The fact that he would say it at all says a lot, though, don't you think?"

"Absolutely. But…"

There was a longish silence, before Stephanie said, "But what?"

"Well, I can't say I blame him," Tim said, sheepishly. "And if he weren't such a prat, I would almost feel sorry for him."

"What?"

"Don't get me wrong. He's an entitled little wanker who thinks he can just control people with money. And if he wants to get the girl, he's been going about it all wrong. But you know, I don't think he knows any other way."

"That's probably true."

"And, well… if you're the one he wants, then he's got good taste. I can see why he's so frustrated about…"

"Thanks. I think."

"I'm doing this all wrong."

"No, you're not," Stephanie chuckled. "I know what you mean. So, definitely thanks."

After another long pause, during which the Doctor wondered now long it could take to find a few drawings in a small bedroom, Stephanie asked another question.

"So… no girlfriend, then?"

"No," Tim sighed.

"Boyfriend?"

"No, not that either. But it's been so long, I'm starting to wonder if I wouldn't prefer that. And well, blimey, in all of the commotion, I guess it never occurred to me to wonder whether you actually have a boyfriend."

"I don't," she said. "But thanks for asking. Daniel never did. He just ploughed in."

"You didn't think to tell him you were engaged or something?"

"I don't believe in doing that," she said. "I think men should back off because I ask them to. Not because they're encroaching on some other bloke's territory."

"Ah. You're absolutely right. Sorry."

"Works in theory, but…"

"Yeah, some guys are idiots," Tim conceded. "But others are not! Case in point, Edge also never asked what your specialisation is at uni. So I will be a non-idiot and ask you myself."

"It's finance."

"Oh right," Tim said. "You met him at a financier's convention."

"Yep," she said. "You're a very good listener."

"Only when I want to be," he chuckled.

"You remembered about Daniel's friend in the registry office," she said.

"Well, again, when I'm motivated, I do remember details. And you motivate me to remember."

"I do?" Stephanie said, realising full well what Tim meant. And the Doctor smiled to himself.

"Yes," Tim told her. "I also remember that he talked to you about not family, but friends, which you said two minutes ago. But! One of his friends is a member of the Devenish family, and he invited you to a party at their mansion, as way of wooing you. And you said that _much_ earlier in the evening."

"That's right," she said.

And then there was another heavy silence.

"Stephanie? Whoa, Steph? Are you okay?" Tim asked.

The Doctor resisted the urge to look back round the corner.

"I'm fine," she said. "I have to go back to London."

"What? Why? Did I offend you?"

"No, you didn't offend me," she said, and the Doctor heard her chair scrape across the kitchen floor as she stood up. It was followed by Tim's chair. "I just…"

"It's five in the morning!" Tim protested. "And it's a three-hour drive!"

"I know," Stephanie said. Then the Doctor turned his head and saw her grab for a pad of paper and pen on a counter he could now see. She wrote something down, and said, "There's my number. Phone me if you need to. Or want to. In fact, please do, because I might have some stuff to tell you."

She strode through the parlour toward the front door.

"Stephanie," the Doctor said, moving forward instinctively, to stop her. "London is the last place you want to be right now. He'll be there looking for you. He's going to think…"

"I know what he thinks," she insisted.

"And what will he do if he finds you, but doesn't get his way?"

"I have to take that risk, Doctor," she said, grabbing her keys off the coffee table and again moving for the door. "Besides, I'm not going home – he won't find me. I'm going to someone who can help me."

And with that, she was out the door.

Martha appeared in the parlour then, with a piece of red clothing in-hand, as well as a sketchbook.

"Where's she going?" she asked, with a confused, but horrified, look on her face.

"Back to London," the Doctor said.

"Why?"

"She didn't say."

"But it's five in the morning!"

"I know."

"And a three-hour drive!"

"I know."

"Edge will come looking for her there!"

"I know! Martha, do you really think none of us, including Stephanie, thought of that?"

"Well why didn't you stop her?"

"How?"

Martha shoved the piece of clothing and the sketchbook into the Doctor's hands, and ran for the door. She tore it open and leaned over the railing just outside. She didn't dare call out the girl's name for fear that Edge's men were still about.

She saw no-one. She kicked the bars and turned back round into the flat.

"Let's go, Doctor," she sighed. "Hopefully, we can get this thing done before he finds her, or something else horrible happens."

"Okay," he said, unfurling the piece of clothing. It turned out to be a red hoodie. "What, another one?"

"Yeah, Curtis owns three," Tim said.

"Well, that's handy. I've never seen him without one. I reckon if any object will be personal enough, this will. Apart from the drawings, of course."

"I had quite a time finding them," Martha said, glancing at Curtis. "He's not keeping them in a drawer anymore, like Tim said."

"He's not?" Tim asked.

"Nope."

And then, as if on-cue, they all turned their attention toward Curtis. All of a sudden, his eyes shifted up to Martha's. She was taken aback.

Then they shifted to the Doctor's. He was also taken aback.

Then, Curtis began to look back and forth at the two of them.

And just as suddenly, he pulled a pencil from his pocket, leaned forward, placing the unfinished drawing on the coffee table, and began to work on it.

"Curtis…" Tim said, lurching forward.

"Don't worry," Curtis said, absently.

"Curtis, mate…"

"Don't worry," Curtis repeated. "Don't worry, don't worry, don't worry…"

"Martha, we'd better go," the Doctor said.

* * *

Once they reached the TARDIS, the re-confirmed what they'd learned on the roof. Curtis had promised to have the drawing finished by noon today, and Daniel Edge believed that tonight, a Thursday, would be "the night" with Stephanie.

"So, one might say we've got until noon," Martha said. "But it'll be much later before Edge finally realises it's not happening."

"Right. So, it's currently five a.m. We've probably got about nineteen hours. Just to be safe, let's call it sixteen."

"Okay. Seven hours until Curtis' deadline, and additional nine before the spit hits the fan. Plus three hours before he can get back to Leeds… unless his henchmen are still here, and he's not planning on getting his hands dirty."

"Or unless he's got a chopper."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. So, sixteen hours, conservatively. Got it. Is that enough time?"

"To devise a thing that will zap Curtis' connection with the Ifasma, and probably with everyone who has ever known about his power, with the least amount of finesse I'm comfortable with? Yeah. It is," he said, examining the red hoodie that he'd thrown on the console upon entering. Then, with a big sigh, he asked, "Martha, do you think Stephanie went back to London to offer herself up?"

"I don't know. My gut tells me no, based on the fact that even Tim now _definitely_ wants her to stand down, but I could be wrong. There's a chance," she sighed back. "She's going to do what she's going to do, Doctor. She's a grown woman, and a _nice person_. She got drawn into a ridiculous situation – an impossible situation – and if she does offer herself up, then she's doing, well, honestly, what I would do, in her shoes."

"But, you wouldn't do it, unless there were absolutely no other alternatives, would you?"

"No, but she may not understand the alternatives."

"Okay. Let's make it so she doesn't have to make that choice," he said, moving more aggressively than usual toward the console. He typed a command or two into the TARDIS' keyboard with flourish.

Martha watched him with worried eyes for a few moments, then asked, "So, are we going to zap the whole of Great Britain with this thing, since people in at least two cities, north and south, know about Curtis' power?"

He pulled his hand down over his face. "I don't know. Maybe. No. But… I don't know."

"If so, would we do it as a pre-emptive strike?"

He thought about this. "No. As barmy as it sounds, I think we should wait until the very last minute. Until we know what Curtis has done. Until we know what Stephanie has done, or has not done. Until we know for sure that Daniel Edge is about to blow."

"Okay," she sighed. "I think you're right. But I find that scenario terrifying."

The Doctor gave Martha a job – it had to do with calibrating, and responding to adjustments that he made. The two of them worked on it for about a half-hour, and then the Doctor said, "Okay, let's upload the energy signature from Curtis, and see what happens."

They waited.

While they waited, he said, "Do you really think that Stephanie would change her mind about giving herself over to Daniel Edge, just because Tim doesn't want her to?"

"No, not because _Tim_ doesn't want her to," Martha answered. "But more because the opinion that it's a crazy thing to do has now become one hundred per-cent unanimous. When it was just you and me, and Tim was waffling, it was one thing. But now, _everyone_ thinks it's a very bad idea."

"Oh. I see."

He sounded crestfallen, and very, very few of the Doctor's emotional nuances ever went lost on her. "Why? Why the tone?"

"What tone?"

"You sound disappointed. I know you weren't hoping that she'd do one man's bidding, if not the other's."

"No, it's nothing to do with that," he smirked. "Just… would have been nice to think that Stephanie fancies him enough to… you know what? Whatever I say is going to sound sexist, so… let's just say, I'm hoping she fancies him, that's all."

"Why?"

"I heard them talking," he said. "I think he likes her. He told her he didn't blame Daniel Edge for being smitten with her, even if he was going about it all wrong."

"Well, that's nice," Martha commented, somewhat absently. Frankly, she wasn't surprised.

Before she could think too hard about it, the upload was complete. They then spent another ninety minutes on another calibration task.

The actual connection between Curtis and the Ifasma was based on a frequency, but was, basically, almost a tangible thing. They spent the next hour or so testing Curtis' drawing pad, to try and find out whether it could be used to nail down, and manipulate, that frequency.

They found that it could.

And so they did. Next, they input all of that information into a device within the TARDIS' inner-workings that would detonate a magnetic pulse from the Axiothe Field, interrupting the frequency between Curtis and the Ifasma, Curtis and his drawings, and Curtis and everyone who had found out about his talent. It wasn't dangerous, but it was dodgy as a solution, and unrefined. But without Curtis, and another few days to plan, it was all they had.

It took about three hours to complete, from beginning to end.

"Stephanie should just about now be getting to London," the Doctor commented, stepping back from the console. "Wonder what she's got up her sleeve."

"I wish I knew."

"I wonder if she's got back in touch with Tim yet."

She frowned. "For someone who doesn't ordinarily notice the nuances of human interaction, you're championing Stephanie and Tim…. Oh. Oh God."

"What?"

"You're hoping his affections will shift away from me, aren't you?"

"Aren't _you_?"

Martha, who was holding a wrench in her hand, threw the tool to the floor, and it made a loud, satisfying _clang._ "Ugh, really, Doctor, not this again!"

* * *

**Uh-oh... the "ship" has come across a small storm. Or has it? :-)**

**As always, I'll love you forever if you leave a review! Thank you for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Wow, five months. I cannot believe it has been so long since I posted on this story! I was finding it an intellectual nightmare _before_ the pandemic, and then when the spit hit the fan in March, my ability to handle chaos went on lockdown (heh). I continued working on a total fluff piece for "Good Omens," which required a different kind of "thinking," and resolved to come back to the Curtis Malmay saga later. If you are reading this, it means you've stuck with me, and I can't tell you how much I appreciate that! I apologize for my absence!**

* * *

**I am asking you to please not just jump into this chapter yet! The chapter begins mid-scene, and goes to an interesting place, and without reminding yourself of context, I'm afraid it won't make much sense. Please read these notes first.**

**So, here's what's been going on. Perhaps you'll remember, Curtis Malmay can draw things into being, because his quirky brain chemistry puts him in-synch with the Ifasma Galaxy, where the citizens can manipulate reality. **

**The Doctor and Martha have discovered a magnetic field (the Axiothe Field) surrounding the galaxy that could interfere with the signal between the Ifasma and Curtis. This would disable his reality-meddling talent, and sever the connection between Curtis, and all of the drawings he's done. When they attempted to examine the field, they realized that it is sentient, and may even have a sense of humor of sorts.**

**Curtis does favors for people, but now finds himself between a rock and hard place, because a powerful playboy (Daniel Edge) has ordered him to "draw" him into a sexual scenario with a woman (Stephanie) who has repeatedly turned him down. If Curtis refuses, he may be risking Stephanie's life as well as his own, but if he complies, it constitutes rape. Stephanie has joined the "team" trying to solve the problem. In a conversation with Curtis' brother Tim, she seems to have an epiphany of sorts, and gets up and leaves abruptly, promising to stay in touch.**

**Because of a time-crunch, and because Curtis is under duress, the Doctor has decided the best thing to do is zap all of Great Britain with the magnetic field. It's highly unrefined, and risks undoing, in a sense, Curtis' autism, which no one wants, but it's the only thing that has a chance at saving Stephanie and Curtis. **

**On the interpersonal front, the Doctor and Martha have grown quite close, and are on the verge of entering into the next phase of their relationship, which is, obviously, romance. But each time they try, they get interrupted. Meanwhile, Tim has developed quite the crush on Martha, which has the Doctor paranoid that Martha might prefer the milder-mannered, more "normal" human. Martha finds this entire business tedious, and has tried to make it clear that she loves the Doctor and no one else… though annoyingly, the Doctor can't quite let it go. **

* * *

**It's a little weird that in coming back to this story after all these months, THIS is the chapter I post! The funny thing is, this chapter was finished back in March, but I don't post anything until the NEXT chapter is finished, so I sat on it, even knowing it would be bizarre for a reader to come back to this! It might feel disjointed, out of context, etc. If you are having any trouble with it, please let me know, and I will attempt to help!**

**There are a lot of balls in the air, but in this chapter, Martha thinks she has worked out a way to simplify at least one aspect of this little drama. If she and the Doctor aren't secure in one another, how can they ever hope to get anything done effectively?**

**Consider yourself warned. Enjoy!**

* * *

THIRTEEN

"Right," the Doctor said. "So, it's currently five a.m. We've probably got about nineteen hours until Edge either works out that Curtis isn't going to cooperate, or until he goes after Stephanie. Just to be safe, let's call it sixteen."

"Is that enough time?"

"To devise a thing that will zap Curtis' connection with the Ifasma, and probably with everyone who has ever known about his power, with the least amount of finesse I'm comfortable with? Yeah. It is."

Worriedly, Martha asked, "So, are we going to zap the whole of Great Britain with this thing, since people in at least two cities, north and south, know about Curtis' power?"

He pulled his hand down over his face. "I don't know. Maybe. No. But… I don't know… As barmy as it sounds, I think we should wait until the very last minute. Until we know what Curtis has done. Until we know what Stephanie has done, or has not done. Until we know for sure that Daniel Edge is about to blow."

"Okay," she sighed. "I think you're right. But I find that scenario terrifying."

And so they worked. They calibrated and adjusted and uploaded energy signatures. Then they readied the device within the TARDIS' inner workings that had a chance at severing Curtis from his power, his burden. It took about three hours to complete.

"Stephanie should just about now be getting to London," the Doctor commented, stepping back from the console. "I wonder if she's got back in touch with Tim yet."

It was perhaps the fourth time in that three hours that he had mentioned the possibility of Stephanie fancying Tim, and vice versa.

Martha frowned. "For someone who doesn't ordinarily notice the nuances of human interaction, you're championing Stephanie and Tim…. Oh. Oh God."

"What?"

"You're hoping his affections will shift away from me, aren't you?"

"Aren't _you_?"

Martha, who was holding a wrench in her hand, threw the tool to the floor, and it made a loud, satisfying _clang._ "Ugh, really, Doctor, not this again!"

The clang brought him round. He framed his head with the index fingers and thumbs of both hands. "Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Forget I said anything."

"I thought we'd got past this."

"We did," he said, quickly, his hands now making motions that suggested he was trying to sweep it all away. "I did, I mean."

"Reassuring you is getting old."

"I know. I'm sorry, I just…"

She sighed. She wasn't actually sure that she wanted to hear what he had to say just now, but she crossed her arms over her chest. "You just what?"

"Well, he's clever and kind and socially-aware, and above all, _normal,_" the Doctor said.

"Doctor…"

"And d'you know what? As long as we're down the rabbit hole, there's also Curtis, who wants you in his unique Curtis Way. Not to mention Daniel Edge looking you over like dessert."

"You think I could be interested in Edge?" she shouted.

"No!" he shot back. "But it is a reminder of how…" Then he sighed.

"How what?"

"Well, honestly, of how, just, amazing you are, and how coveted. Two men of polar opposite ilks – Curtis and Edge – they both fancy you. And that says _so much, _Martha, can't you see that? Curtis apparently doesn't have sex on his radar, but Edge certainly does. And Edge doesn't have your intellectual prowess on his radar, but Curtis does."

"And you have both, yeah?"

"Yeah…"

"I can't believe we're having this discussion."

"It's not going to stop with the two of them!"

"So? Sorry to toot my own horn, Doctor, but I've turned a few heads in my time. But do you think anyone could compete with you? Ever? Even come within the same ballpark?"

"Okay, okay," he said, trying to get under control. "Martha, I'm sorry. I've just never had to deal with this before, and I'm… green, all right? Relationships are like a foreign language to me - one that I haven't practised in a long while. I'm insecure, and I'm being a prat, and I realise that."

"Good."

"It's just… you are already well aware that falling in love with you was a process. Deciding to _be_ in love with you was another process. It hurts, you know?"

"I do know!"

"And I just can't bear even the suggestion that it might have been all in vain. All that work, all that pain…"

She sighed. She was irritated now. Very irritated.

"Do you know what I can't bear the thought of, Doctor?"

"What?"

"Being in a relationship with someone who's in a state of constant jealousy."

He opened his mouth, clearly to protest, but it died in his throat. His body visibly deflated, and he said, "I know. I know, I'm sorry. I'll get over it, I promise. It's not really jealousy, it's just general… overall… Okay, just let me get through this thing with Curtis, and…"

"_This thing with Curtis_ could go on for quite some time, especially if we eventually try to refine the pulse so as not to disturb his autism, and that's not even mentioning the three D&D drawings we dumped on various planets, that we'll now have to work out how to maintain without Curtis' help. I don't know anything about it, Doctor, but it seems like it could be months. And every step of the way, Curtis will be there, and so will Tim."

"Right. Hadn't thought through that sentence," the Doctor muttered, now pouting with his bum leaning against the console.

She came and stood very near him, but did not touch him. She sighed, calming herself. "Look, I don't mind telling you that I love you. That I love you more than anyone or anything I've ever known. I don't mind telling you that you're the most important thing in my life. I don't mind telling you that no-one could ever eclipse you in my eyes," she said, with plenty of emotion. "But I _do_ mind saying it just so that you will understand that I'm not interested in some clever-and-kind bloke in Leeds we just met a month ago. I don't want to do it to quell your jealousy, or to reassure that we're solid. If you don't _know_ those things, Doctor, then I don't want to do any of this with you."

"I understand," he said, then began to pace again. "Maybe if we didn't keep getting interrupted. Derailed. Foiled by the Malmay brothers."

"Oh, for God's sake."

"Twice in the last three days, you and I have been on the verge of something, and…"

"Shut up," she spat, just as his pace brought him back to her. She took advantage of the moment, and grabbed his lapels, bending his entire upper body forward. She stood on tiptoes and pressed her mouth into his. He was so shocked, he couldn't even kiss back. His hands were at his sides, slightly outwards, in mid-air…

This was their seconds kiss. Ever.

But it was the first that was not a ruse of some sort.

After about five long seconds, the kiss melted a bit, and she moved her arms up around his neck, and he finally found the wherewithal to wrap his around her body, and lift her off her feet. She turned her head and deepened the kiss, her tongue meeting his halfway, and a liquid-hot dance began.

They had been in the full thrall of each other, of wine, of arousing storytelling, when the TARDIS had been literally _drawn_ into Curtis' conflict, and any carnal intentions had been, as the Doctor had said, derailed. Foiled. That was just three days ago, but it felt like years.

And so, this… this was a moment that felt so long-awaited, they almost froze this way – lips and tongues searching, hands stroking, breath coming increasingly more quickly…

And then, all at once, he let go. Her feet met the floor, the kiss was broken.

"What's happening?" he asked, his face contorted into full worry.

"What do you mean _what's happening?_" she asked, pulling her mobile phone from her pocket. She opened it up and pressed a button. "You know what's happening."

"I mean… wait, what're you doing?"

"I'm making sure we don't get interrupted again. I don't know how to work the comm systems in the TARDIS, so you'll have to set them to silent."

"I'll… what?"

"Go on," she said gesturing to the console.

He frowned and rather confusedly did as she asked. But as he moved, he said, "Martha, this is hardly the time. We've got…"

"…thirteen hours," she reminded him.

His hands dropped to his sides, and she took one of them, and began to lead him toward the hallway. As they crossed through the archway, he stopped.

"Honestly, Martha… what if Edge gets to him sooner? What if something else happens, and they can't get hold of us? What if…"

She took his jowls in both of her hands, and said, "What if the planet Mongo comes under fire from the neighbouring galaxy? What if there's a volcanic eruption in Peru? There's always something happening, Doctor."

"Curtis is vulnerable," he said, losing ground.

"So are you," she reminded him. "And you and I will not be at the top of our game unless we are square with one another. Unless… do you not want to?"

She took her hands away from him, and stood, waiting for an answer.

"What? Of course I want to," he said. "Been a bit distracted with the _wanting to_, in fact. It's part of why I'm on-edge and acting like a jealous adolescent, I reckon."

"Then let's both get to a place where we feel secure. And loved. And completely entrenched in one another," she said. She smiled, and took his hand again, leading him further down the hall. "I'll assure you that no one else has my heart or any other part of me, and you'll assure me that you've never _actually_ doubted that."

"Okay," he whispered, succumbing. Not that he ever thought he could win. Or wanted to.

Martha actually had no idea where his bedroom was. Honestly, she suspected that it moved about quite a bit, dependent upon his needs on any given day, in any given debacle.

But she knew where hers was.

She led him around the corner, through a concave white door, into a spacious room shaped like a capital Q. A small hallway served as the tail and curved around into a circular, domed area. There was one roundel with a hexagonal shape in the middle, at the apex of the ceiling, and from it emitted a blue light. It was the only light in the room at the moment, and that was fine with both of them.

On the left, there was a long, long set of chrome shelves at waist-level, upon which Martha had stacked clothing, shoes, books, and any other personal effects she had – some of which she had acquired in the past month, and others she had left behind the first time she'd walked away from the TARDIS. The shelf curved off to the left and led into an attached bathroom suite. Off to the right, there was a wall-mounted television and a desk, a small fridge, a coffee maker, and a few other things the TARDIS had added for her, after she'd come on-board the second time. She guessed (rightly) that it was a ploy to get her to stay.

"Martha, I…" he began as they reached the centre of the room.

When he didn't finish, she said, "Yes?"

He sighed, and gave her a sheepish smirk. "It's been a while."

She echoed the smirk. "Well, for me, too."

"Right. What are we talking? Six months? Less?"

"Yeah, about six months… since Tom and I broke up."

He chuckled. "I've been looking at six months in the rearview mirror for decades. Maybe longer. Centuries? Well, certainly not _centuries, _plural…"

"Okay," she said calmly. "You know that it's basically just like riding a bike?"

"For most people. But you see, regeneration… sometimes I forget how to ride a bike."

She chuckled. "Well, do you know basically what comes next?"

"Well, sort of... in the big picture. But there are myriad possibilities resting in the details."

"All we have to do is pick _one_."

"Okay. How about this one?"

With that, he took her hand, and now began to lead her. He sat down on the bed, and held out his arms, and Martha walked into them. He wrapped them around her middle, and pressed his head against her chest, and took in her scent deeply. He exhaled audibly, and with a hint of contentment, and she buried her right hand in his hair, and pulled gently.

The sound that came out of him then was part laugh, part moan, part sigh. She smiled, and felt gently inflamed by it.

He loosened his embrace a bit, and lifted her t-shirt with one hand and began planting lovely, wet kisses across her golden brown stomach…

… and the flame mounted further. It was threatening to become a little less gentle.

She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, and allowed herself to just _feel._ His lips moving across her flesh, little vibrations from his sighs, and now, his tongue inside her navel.

There was a small backdraft of fire within her just then, and she gave a good groan, and pressed forward with her hips and knees. She planted them on either side of the Doctor's body, and set her bum down on his thighs. She wrapped her arms impulsively around his neck, and plunged her tongue into his mouth. He gave another surprised laugh/moan/sigh, and kissed back.

She pulled away momentarily and shed her t-shirt completely, tossing it to the geometric carpet beneath the Doctor's feet.

A hot gust came over him, and he grabbed onto her, and fell sideways, eliciting a delighted yelp from Martha, as she now found her back against the mattress, and her head on a pillow, and a tightly-coiled, brilliant, incendiary, incredibly alluring man on top of her. She melted now – could feel the moisture gathering between her thighs.

He gave her a hard, searching kiss on the mouth, and then did the same all the way down her cheek and neck, until he was nipping and sucking at the divot between her breasts. Then, he gave her a warm, but also somehow wicked smile, and he pulled back up to a kneeling position on the bed so that his fingers could deftly unbutton her jeans. He spread open the clasp, and planted another wet kiss on the warm flesh underneath. He pulled the zip slowly downward, finding the waistband of a pair of pink cotton knickers. He moved it out of the way, and planted a kiss there, as well. Martha moaned, and bucked her hips involuntarily.

He insinuated both hands under her jeans now, thrusting them in between her body and her clothing. He tugged everything toward him a few inches, exposing her hip bones, and kissing them, and the flat expanse of flesh in-between, with licking, nipping, moaning abandon. He began to take in the very strong scent of her arousal now, and it gave his body a jolt. He now knew that this would be exactly like riding a bike – he knew precisely what he wanted, and precisely how to get it.

He sat up straight and unbuttoned his coat rather quickly, and peeled off the garment, discarding it on the floor along with her shirt. With her help, blindingly quickly, there was a careless heap of pinstripe suit and related accessories on the floor, and a totally nude Time Lord on the bed. He pulled off her boots, and threw them to the rug with a satisfying _thud, _and worked her jeans and knickers over her hips and legs, discarding them, too. As an afterthought, she arched her back and unhooked her bra, ripping it away from her body, as well.

And now they looked at each other.

Martha was the one who had begun this dance, but now she was the one looking at him expectantly. She felt vulnerable, wanting, waiting, wondering… on her back, totally bare, nether regions turning more and more to liquid every moment… what would he do?

Besides smile at her wickedly once more?

He sat on his knees, pried her knees apart and pulled her roughly toward him.

She gave a little cry of surprise, and watched him closely, breathing heavily…

He positioned her bum on his knees, and himself at the perfect angle to thrust forward and bury himself in her.

But just before he did so, he had one last flash of… what was it? Practicality? Conscience? Both? The entire debacle with Edge, Stephanie, Curtis and Tim had put him entirely on the back foot. In more ways than one.

"Are you sure?" he asked her.

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, chuckling a bit.

"You can change your mind."

"I know. I don't want to. Unless you do."

"God, no," he breathed. "I just can't escape the feeling that this isn't the right time."

"Then when will be? When all is well with the universe?" she practically whimpered. "Doctor, we've come this far. Are you really going to stop now?"

"No. No…"

And then he did it. He watched her face as his entire length disappeared inside her squirming body, with one hard push.

She groaned loudly, viscerally, and arched her back.

It was exactly what he'd needed to see and hear; his confidence came back in another wave.

Her head spun like a top – vision a bit blurry, words slurred. She did try to say something at that moment, but it came out as gibberish. This also boosted his confidence.

He pulled back, and pushed forward, with an answering moan from both of them. Then again. And again. And again, still slow, controlled, firm.

_Definitely like riding a bike._

He bit his lip, and absolutely relished watching her… her mouth going slack with pleasure, her eyes closing with the impact, and her body writhing to meet him halfway. Watching her hips move, listening to her sigh, and whisper, "Yes…"

It was inebriating, the sensation and emotion so thick, he had to let his head fall back, and his eyes close for a few moments. And still, he gave push after push, because it was what his body (and hers) was demanding.

And he knew it was not pretty, but with each forward movement, he gave a grunt, a growl, that signalled a deeply-seated lust being both stoked and quenched with each plunge. Each time he sank inside of her, it was a coup, and a desire sated, but also pushed him toward an even bigger, mounting desire.

The same could be said of her. Every penetration to her core, every time he touched her in that perfect, explosive spot with an uncontrolled thrust, stars exploded in her mind. But also, a big, pulsating, balloon was being filled, and threatening to burst.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her – an easy, breathless smile, indicating relief, commiseration. They both knew that when it was done correctly, and with the perfect person, _this _was why lovemaking could be so maddeningly exquisite, so sought-after, so difficult to describe, yet so easy to fall into.

And love itself.

She sat up momentarily and wrapped her hands round the back of his neck. "Come here," she said, then fell backward again, pulling him down.

And now, eye to eye, there was an intensity that hadn't been there before. With hunger in his eyes, almost a certain anger, he drove in and out, breath ragged, mind exploding.

She smiled a very moved, tearful smile. "How could you wonder if anyone else could get to me?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he answered, now quite aware that this moment was for them, and no-one else. No other person could become part of this union, or between it. Some bloke fancies her – how could anyone not do? But it meant nothing. _This_ was everything.

"No-one else can do to me what you can," she told him."

"No… good… I…"

"Because I'm yours," she whispered.

"Good."

"Make me yours, will you?"

He groaned hard, possibly at her words, possibly at something else, and he buried his mouth in her neck, and bit, just hard enough to hurt, and to show his voracity… but also be stimulating, intoxicating.

She whispered another full-throated, "Yes," in response, and her hips changed angles. Suddenly, her pleasure, the stimulation, the sensation, it all had a trajectory.

His lips and tongue and teeth explored her neck, roved over her shoulders, while the rest of his body moved in rhythm, took what it wanted, gave what _she _wanted. It was all mounting… they were hanging on by a thread…

And then, quite suddenly, she gave a groan deeper than any of the others, and a breathy, "Oh, I'm… I'm…"

He could feel pulsations inside her, her thighs gripping round his, and vibrations throughout her whole body as orgasm seemed to take her by surprise, and she was suddenly swimming in sensation, in all manner of quakes in her body. When she came, she came big – like she was being drowned by a tide, and it was gorgeous to witness, to be inside of her and entwined with her while she shook and moaned and soared and then came back down.

And now he was like a runaway train about to burst through a brick wall. The most explosive, satisfying crash was about to happen…

And when it did, it took him a little bit by surprise as well… at least his reaction. He would have liked to look her in the eye, let stars shatter everywhere in his body, and gloat a bit as he watched her take it all in…

But instead, the whole thing was too devastating. He gave an out-of-control guttural curse, that cut through the otherwise still room, and liquid waves of satisfaction came pouring out of him, and into her. Pulsations went one after another, and each one pushed another involuntary noise out of his mouth and lungs…

…reminding him of two things. One, it had been a truly long time since he'd done this. And two, he was helplessly in love.

She felt a sharp pain for a three or four seconds while he pushed hard and seemed to disappear to another planet for a few moments. She let out a little yelp in response, but then settled into feeling him relax, fill her, breathe into her neck, and claim her. As she had asked. As she had coaxed. As she'd known was right.

* * *

**So... if you're still reading this, I thank you profusely for staying with me. Please let me know you're out there, and that my coming back to this story isn't in vain. It will be easy for me to abandon it, if I think no one is reading! Leave a review with your thoughts on the story, or whatever else. ;-) Thank you for reading!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks for the love! So glad to see that there are folks out there still reading - I can't tell you what that means to me!**

**Well, the Doctor and Martha have just taken a HUGE step forward in their relationship. The Doctor was skeptical, but Martha insisted that if they weren't "square with each other," they couldn't tackle the crisis of potentially interstellar proportions that awaited them.**

**But now, in the afterglow, will they see things differently? Or, now that their heads are clear, will they be able to tackle the problem in a different way?**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

FOURTEEN

Proving to each other that they are a pair, reserved only for each other and there has never been any doubt of that, took quite a while. And they _wanted _it to take quite a while. It could not be simply done in one bout of lovemaking. Something of that magnitude necessitated another couple hours' worth of love and rest, with talking interspersed, in varying degrees of intensity.

By noon, which was Daniel Edge's deadline for Curtis's drawing, they were waking from an hour's slumber, opening their eyes to what felt to them like a new world. And yet, they had the same annoying problem to solve.

"Annoying?" Martha asked, pulling her jeans on.

"You don't find it annoying?"

"Of course I do," she conceded. "But wouldn't _dire dilemma_ be a better phrase? Or _problem of more-than-global proportions?_ To call it annoying just makes you sound petty."

He smirked, tucking in his shirt. He crossed a short space to her, and put his hands on her upper arms, stroking lovingly. "It's only annoying now that there are definitely things I'd rather focus on."

"Okay." She gave an uneasy smile, and broke eye-contact. She bent to pick up her tee-shirt then.

"Sorry. Am I not allowed to feel that way?" He was now putting on his tie.

"No, it's just… thinking about this… did _we_ do the wrong thing?"

"What? That?" he asked, gesturing toward the bed.

"Yeah."

"How could it be the wrong thing?" he asked, nervousness rising in his voice. "You're the one who…"

"I know," she said, somberly. "But we have a quote-unquote _annoying_ problem to solve, that's actually not annoying, but quite critical, and possibly bigger than this planet, and…"

He began tying his tie. "Martha, I had my doubts, but I think you were right. We had a had a serious imperative to get on the same page with one another. That need is nothing to sneeze at. Especially with the delicate work we do."

She nodded, subtly. "It just doesn't seem like us."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Not the... sex part. It doesn't seem like us to put our needs before Curtis. Before Stephanie."

"I knew what you meant. And we didn't. We put our needs on-par with their needs. And if we're going to be a team and help them, then, I needed reassurance, and you needed me to stop asking for reassurance." With that, he pulled on his suit jacket.

"Okay, okay," she sighed.

"And do you know what? Tim would say the same thing."

"Tim?"

"Yeah. He would tell you that the caregivers have to put their needs ahead of their charges every once in a while, in order to stay sane, nourished, rested, and capable of doing the job that needs doing," he said, bending to pick up his trainers. He sat down on the bed now, and fished the socks out of the shoes, and began to pull them on. "Not that he heeds that advice, mind you, but he would tell you it's true, even if he doesn't practice what he preaches."

She smiled. "Caregivers."

"Yep. That's us. If we're not feeling healthy and sane, no one gets what they need."

"I know you must be right. I know that just a bit ago, this all made perfect sense to me, and I'm just having guilt now, because…"

There was a long pause, while he waited for her to finish that sentence, and he tied his shoe. Then he stood up and asked, "Can I give you a hug?"

He was now fully put-together in the same 'Doctor' uniform he had hastily climbed out of just a few hours before. His hair was mussed, but what else was new?

"Sure," she said, a bit wearily, but gratefully.

Again, he crossed the space. He put his arms around her, and they enjoyed a few moments of calm… together.

* * *

At seven minutes before one p.m., Tim Malmay answered the door to his flat. "Hi guys," he said, stepping aside and letting them in.

"Hi," the Doctor said. "I don't suppose you've heard from Edge?"

"No, I think it's too soon," Tim responded, shutting the door.

"Curtis?"

"Asleep," Tim said.

"Dare I ask? I mean… he was drawing when we left."

"I don't know what he's done," Tim sighed. "He won't tell me. Which actually could mean any number of things."

The Doctor looked at Martha and also sighed hard. "Okay," he said. "He's going to do what he's going to do, I suppose. But we've still got a bit of time before Edge expects anything to happen."

"The only consolation here is that if Curtis isn't able to take the pressure, and finishes the drawing, at the very least, Stephanie won't be blindsided," Martha sighed.

"Understanding why you're being raped is better than not understanding?" the Doctor asked no-one in particular. "Interesting question to ask the universe."

"Mercifully, I don't know the answer, specifically," she said. "But understanding any dilemma has got to be better than being surprised and left in the dark, hasn't it?"

"Jesus, this is a thorny topic. I know this is short-sighted of me, but I've rarely ever given any thought to sexual assault and misogyny and its relationship to privilege and power, and now, suddenly, it's all I can think about. And it's not pleasant!" Tim complained, arms crossed over his chest like a child.

"Welcome to the nightmares of most women," Martha said, patting him on the shoulder.

"I hate the fact that you have to say that to me. I hate that Daniel Edge is such a powerful prick," Tim continued. "I hate that I have to think about him so much. I hate that caring for my brother means so much more now than just figuring out where he's going to go for the day, and how to keep him happy. I hate that someone nice like Stephanie can be involuntarily pulled into this madness, and have so little say in what happens to her. It's rubbish. Tea?"

"Erm, okay," Martha said, frowning confusedly. Offering tea at the end of that particular tirade seemed to her like a non-sequitur.

"I was dozing on the sofa when you two arrived," he said. "I'm exhausted. But I feel like if I let myself sleep deeply, the whole world might collapse around me."

"Welcome to the nightmares of a Time Lord," the Doctor muttered, echoing Martha.

Once again, they trooped into the Malmay kitchen – by now, Martha knew exactly where to find tea bags. The Doctor paced about while Tim filled the kettle.

"So you haven't had any rest, then?" she asked Tim.

"Not really – just a quick kip sitting up. Can't relax. You?"

Martha felt a flush of heat all over, as though she'd been caught out. "Erm… we slept. But only about an hour."

The Doctor cleared his throat. "Heard from Stephanie yet?" he asked, driving the conversation in a different direction.

"Er, yeah," Tim said, adjusting the heat on the stove. "Actually, I rang her about forty-five minutes ago, just to see, you know, what the hell she's doing. She said she had got in touch with one of her professors, and was en route to his house."

"One of her professors?" Martha asked. "Why?"

"She didn't explain, she just said she thought he could help her with something. Professor Dibbins. Henry or Harold or… maybe Hamish Dibbins?"

"Hm," the Doctor muttered. "No idea what sort of bee she's got in her bonnet?"

"None," Tim insisted.

The three of them waited for the water to boil. During which, Martha said, "Okay, so… if and when you hear from Edge, how do you think he'll get in touch?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Tim said. "I'm assuming guys in black suits will show up at the door. I doubt they'll send a telegram."

The Doctor said, "You know what? Just to be on the safe side, I think I'd better temporarily wire your phone and Curtis' into mine. That way, when either of you gets a text, I'll know it, no matter what we're doing."

"You think they'll text?"

"I dunno," the Doctor shrugged. "It is the most efficient way of getting a message to someone in this century."

"We've never given him our numbers," Tim said.

"And you really think he has no way of finding them out? If that family has got the police in their back pocket, then they definitely have access to information that they shouldn't." The Doctor held out his hand. "Give it to me."

Tim obeyed with a shrug, and the Doctor sonicked it.

"How long will this last?" Tim asked.

"Twenty four hours," the Doctor told him. "Okay, Martha, would you be so kind as to send Mr. Malmay here a text?"

She pulled her phone from her pocket, and had to switch it back on before she could use it. She smirked a bit, as she remembered why she had darkened it in the first place.

But then, she hit a few buttons with her thumbs, and said, "Okay, that's done it."

Tim's phone dinged a few seconds later, as did the phone in the Doctor's hand (which was Martha's old one).

"Brilliant," the Doctor said, more flatly than usual, looking at the display. "Can you get me Curtis' phone?"

"Yikes. I guess I could try to do it without waking him," Tim said, and he disappeared down the hall.

After a beat, the Doctor said to Martha, rather quietly, "You look guilty."

"I feel guilty."

"Well, stop it," he said. "You did nothing wrong. _We _did nothing wrong."

"He's been agitated all this time. Quick kip sitting up, maybe pacing the floor the rest of the time, waiting for the phone to ring – Edge, Stephanie, for better, for worse, and we…"

"It's done, Martha," he insisted, pulling her in for a hug. "We could debate about the appropriateness of what we did, and when, and why. We could flog ourselves until Kingdom Come, but guess where that gets us."

"Nowhere?"

"Exactly. And no-one tried to get hold of us, no-one died nor fell into a black hole while we were giving a bit of very much-needed undivided attention to each other. So, relax. You were right when you said that there will always be some reason why it's not the right time. So we _created_ the right time. And in a few days, hopefully, we can set aside a long weekend, or a week, or more, to… I don't know… maybe hole up in a hotel on the Santorini coast? No TARDIS, no phones?"

"That sounds…" she began.

And that's when Tim reappeared in the kitchen. "I can't find Curtis' phone."

"Are you sure?" Martha asked.

"He always leaves it plugged in, and on his nightstand when he goes to sleep," Tim insisted, a bit of mild concern coming into his voice.

"Well, it was a rough night. He got dangled off the top of a building by a rich prick," the Doctor said. "Maybe he forgot. Maybe it's still in his pocket."

"I checked," Tim said. "He's lying on his bed in his underpants, so I know it's not on him. I looked through his jeans and his hoodie. I even looked under the bed, between the night stand and the wall…"

"Okay, okay," Martha said. "No need to get exorcised. He did get manhandled quite a lot, maybe it got wrested out of his pocket some how, and it's still on the roof. I'll go check."

"I'll go…" Tim offered.

"No, you stay and have tea. I will be back in five minutes," Martha said, and then gestured with her eyes that the Doctor should continue the tea-making process.

Then she walked curtly out the front door, before anyone could stop her.

Tim paced around in a circle, as one does when knackered, so the Doctor grabbed him gently by the arm, pulled a chair out from under the table, and put him in it.

The kettle was screaming within a minute after that, and the Doctor brought the tea, and sat down in the seat to Tim's left.

"Tim, I would like to apologise," the Doctor said.

Tim was surprised, and looked it. "For what?"

"Just in case I've seemed at all, say, hostile toward you, or… dismissive, or…"

"You haven't," Tim said, looking at the Doctor suspiciously. "Although, it's a bit worrying that you think you have. Does that indicate that you've had hostile or dismissive feelings about me?"

He was fully leaning away from the Time Lord now, with a semi-horrified look on his face.

The Doctor pulled one hand down over his face. "Blimey, I've made it worse. I'm a real dynamo with this interpersonal stuff."

Tim sat up straight, took a long pull off his tea, then said, "Made what worse? What are you on about, Doctor?"

"Okay, I haven't been feeling hostile, or dismissive. Quite the contrary, in fact. I like you a lot, and wish to help you, and I think you're clever and worth listening to."

"But?"

"But… there's Martha."

"Oh."

"She's excessively intelligent and practical, and I'm afraid that she might rightly see life with me as being a bit impractical, in the long run."

"Wait… no, when you two were here before, she and I talked and she said you weren't interested in her. I couldn't imagine how that could be, in any way, possible but…"

"Well, she was mistaken," the Doctor interrupted, and he leaned over the table on his forearms. "As it turns out, I am. And actually, I always have been. Interested. In her. The other thing I've always been, where she is concerned, is a prat. I've got issues, but I won't bore you with them. The point is, yeah, she thought I wasn't interested for a long time, because I let her believe it – seemed easier that way. But now…"

"Things have changed. I get it."

"I mean, we're getting a bit off-topic, and frankly, I think she'd kill us both if she knew we were having this conversation. But…" the Doctor sighed. "I'm bothering to show interest now, and I have to admit, the last few days, I've been, well, basically annoying her with my paranoia."

"Paranoia over what?"

"You."

"Seriously? _You're_ worried that she'll choose me?" Tim practically shouted, gesturing to his unevenly-growing hair, tee-shirt from the electrician's business where he had worked in Kent, and ill-fitting jeans. He relaxed in his chair and laughed. "I have to say, I have heard that brilliant, sophisticated, gorgeous women do love guys with patchy beards and holes in their trainers."

"Well, but see… you're normal. And a truly sophisticated woman can see past the patchy beard and the holes in the trainers."

"You're Time Lord."

"Yes, but you're normal."

"You have a spaceship! And that hair, and the suit and, you know, like… penetrative eyes."

"I have pene… what? Never mind. This is going nowhere. Suffice it to say, I'm more secure now, my jealousy, or whatever the hell it was, is now quelled, and I can behave like an adult. Well, as much as I ever do. And I was afraid that in my infinite childishness, I may have inadvertently let my little obsession show through to you… in a way that could be construed as hostility, or something."

"It never did, but I appreciate the effort, Doctor," Tim said. "So, quelled now?"

"Er… yep," the Doctor said, taking an uneasy sip of tea and breaking eye-contact.

"Mm-hm," Tim grunted. "You're a lucky man, Doctor."

"I know. Thanks." There was a minute's silence, and then the Doctor said, "Do me a favour, and pretend this conversation never happened."

"Gladly."

Another, shorter silence passed, and then, "Doctor!" called out Martha's voice as she stumbled back into the flat. "Guess what I found!"

"Curtis' mobile phone?" he asked as she approached the table.

"Yeah, here you go," she said, handing it to him. "But also, this." And she held up a shiny silver thing with two careful fingers, and set it on the table.

"Is this…"

"Yep. It's Daniel Edge's flask."

The Doctor's eyes got very wide, and he stood up slowly from his spot at the kitchen table.

"What? What does it mean?" Tim asked."

"Daniel Edge's flask has been in Daniel Edge's mouth. Which means we have Daniel Edge's DNA," the Doctor whispered, staring at the rectangular thing on the table as though if he took his eyes off it, it might abscond. "And his fingerprints."

"I only touched it in those two spots – you'll find my right index finger and thumb prints, but the rest will be his."

"Why is that important?" Tim wondered.

"Oh, Martha, I love you so much. Let's get back to the TARDIS," the Doctor said, now tearing through the drawers of the Malmays' kitchen, searching for, and finding, a plastic zipper bag. He dropped the flask in it. "Tim, you're welcome to come with us, but I'd suggest you get some rest."

Tim waved them out of the flat, promising to get a proper kip, lying down, before Curtis woke up.

* * *

The TARDIS was exhausted. Working through and manipulating energy from the Axiothe Field was no easy feat for the millennia-old sentient ship. The Field was just as sentient, but bigger, its force further-reaching. And if it did not want to be influenced, it would not be. Fortunately, the bit of its mojo they were currently working with had been more or less severed from the whole… though it was still stubborn.

After spending three hours in the wee hours of the morning wrestling with it, she let out a groan, tantamount to a sigh of worn-out tedium, when the Doctor presented her with a new set of instructions, and materials.

"Sorry, old girl," he said. "But it's safer for everyone."

She worked slowly, almost grudgingly. The Doctor and Martha spent four more hours in the console room working through it along with her, occasionally getting distracted with a snog…

"Did you mean what you said about the Santorini coast?" Martha sighed, coming out of a kiss that made her knees weak.

"Of course. Who would joke about something that serious?" he asked, with a smirk.

They were snapped back to reality by the TARDIS blaring an alarm each time they did this... the Doctor realized at some point that she was doing it on purpose.

From the beginning, since they had remained parked in the Malmays' council estate, they had heard folks walking past, talking, not noticing the TARDIS, of course. But it was around 6 p.m. when they heard a commotion – various voices barking out, followed by a very clear, "Doctor!"

They rushed to the door and looked out. It was coming from the seventh floor, in front of Curtis and Tim's flat.

"No… no… I did what you wanted! I finished the drawing! Please stop! I finished it! I finished it!" they could hear from Curtis, panicking.

He was being hauled by his arms and hoodie toward the lift, as was Tim. There were at least four guys with suits struggling to get the brothers to move.

"Shut up right the hell now!" shouted a familiar voice. It was Daniel Edge, seeming very angry, but a lot less drunk than the last time they'd seen him.

Absently, the Doctor wondered how much more dangerous a sober Daniel Edge could be, than the inebriated version. He was probably less reckless, but just as narcissistic and entitled, and sharper.

People above were sticking their heads out their doors, and the henchmen began telling them it was "police business," and that they should get themselves back inside, if they knew what was good for them.

"It's being handled, please get back inside," said Sam, the 'reasonable' henchman. "You'll be safer if you remain indoors. Go back to whatever you were doing before. Please."

There was a pause, then they heard a voice, not Sam's, ask, "To the roof with them?"

"Of course to the roof with them," Edge responded, angrily.

"But I did what you asked!" Curtis now sobbed.

"Then why am I not in London right now, in the throes of my first-ever Middlesex fuck?"

"I finished the drawing. I finished the drawing. I finished the drawing!"

They briefly saw Tim's face looking over the edge at the TARDIS, until someone yanked him back.

The lift went "ding." They were headed up.

* * *

**You know what I'm going to say now: leave a review, and you will make my weekend! Thank you for reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, I'm not gonna lie - this chapter is weird. I worked on it A LOT and it still turned out really talky and a little bit all-over-the-place.**

**The objective here, for all of the characters except Edge himself, is to talk Edge down from his murderous (sort of) intentions. Get him to back up, back off, etc. So, lots of things get tried. It covers a wide range of topics. Brains and substance versus superficiality, using power instead of kindness to navigate the world, privilege/entitlement, misogyny, poor life choices… It's meant to be somewhat climactic, very uncomfortable, but has a decent cliffhanger. **

**When last we saw Daniel Edge and friends, they were hauling Curtis and Tim up to the roof again. Nothing about that is good.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

FIFTEEN

The TARDIS materialised on the roof of the council estate building, fifteen floors above street level, just before the lift went "ding" again. no fewer than seven men stepped out of it – four of them in identical black suits, one in a shiny blue suit befitting a wealthy, spoiled partyboy. And the last two, one was in jeans and an old tee-shirt, and one in a red hoodie.

The latter was crying.

His brother was attempting to reassure him, "Don't worry, Curtis – you did what they asked, didn't you? It's okay, just try to take your mind away from here – you can do that."

The seven of them trundled past the TARDIS, presumably toward the precipice of the building. This time, the Doctor did not try to conceal his presence, nor Martha's. The two of them stalked out of the box, and began to make noise straight away.

"Edge! Oi, Edge!" he called out, to no avail. The party of seven was headed for disaster.

"What, you again? Fuck off, whoever you are," Edge called back to him. "If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your nose out of my shit."

"Sam!" Martha tried, now jogging after the group, attempting to appeal to the only one of Edge's henchmen who seemed to have any sense. "Sam, listen! You're a reasonable man – do you really want to throw anyone off a roof?"

Sam was merely moving with the group, not manhandling Curtis nor Tim. He stopped, turned and faced her. "No. Not even a little bit."

"So don't let them do it!" she cried, now within two arms' lengths of him.

"This is my bed. I made it, and now I'm lying in it," he said to her. "I'll take responsibility."

"That's not reassuring!" she insisted. "While you're lying in your bed, two men are going to be needlessly dead!"

"I'm sorry. I truly am."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she shouted.

"What do you think will happen if I try to call this off?" he asked her, whispering. "Daniel will say, _oh, okay, Sam, you're right – what we're doing is reprehensible, so let's all just go home and think about what we've done?"_

"No, but you might have some sway, and you'll be able to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow!"

"Too late," he said.

"Sam," the Doctor tried, dividing his attention between the interaction between Martha and Sam, and the three henchmen and Edge, now standing dangerously close to the building's drop-off. "What leverage has he got over you, eh? What makes someone like you stay employed by someone like him?"

Ten metres away, Edge was ranting at the Malmay brothers, and three somewhat shellshocked henchmen stood still, holding their hostages ready to push, as instructed.

"You don't want to know," Sam insisted. "I have demons you couldn't handle."

"You can slay the demons by saving two lives! Break free! Do the right thing! You can stop this – he'll listen to you!"

"Not about this," Sam said. "I tried to talk him out of this bullshit before we even came to Leeds the first time. I tried to get him to leave that Havilland girl alone from the start. I could see she wasn't interested, and I knew where it would lead. Rape and mayhem at the very least. Now possibly murder. This family… it wouldn't be the first time."

"Won't you hate yourself if you don't try?"

"I already hate myself, don't you get that?" Sam spat. He was quick and angry, but somehow also sombre.

The three of them watched Edge rant some more, call Curtis _retard_ a few times, and get in Tim's face about being useless, ugly, and poor.

Martha asked, "You say you'll take responsibility? Go to prison for murder? Locked up for life, maybe. What's he holding over your head that has worse consequences than that?"

"It's not about _me,_ okay? Just leave it. Please."

Martha exhaled hard, and could read between the lines. The Edge family had someone he loved tied up in something sinister, and only didn't drop them in it as long as Sam stayed in line, as it were.

Sam would not be of help here. He could not.

It was up to them, as usual.

The Doctor growled in frustration, and turned back to the spoiled brat who started the whole thing, interrupting his tirade. "Edge, what's brought this on? Curtis said he finished your drawing…"

"Yeah, well, he lied," Edge said, harshly. "See how I'm here, back at this rat-infested building with you peasants, rather than between the legs of one Stephanie Harvard?"

"Havilland," Curtis corrected.

"It's early in the evening, Daniel. What's happened that has already convinced you?" the Doctor asked.

"I went to her flat to find her, and she wasn't there. So I rang her," Edge explained, petulantly. "I asked her where she was, and offered to come to her, and she told me to fuck off. She told me that it didn't matter who I hired, she would never be mine for the taking, or the bossing about, or for... anything else, really."

"She said that?" the Doctor asked, with a bit of wide-eye disbelief.

"She did. Actually, she was quite colourful about it. Didn't know she had it in her."

Martha muttered, "She must have something up her sleeve." She reckoned that otherwise, Stephanie would not risk Curtis' safety in this way.

"You know her?" Edge asked the Doctor.

"Yeah, we've met."

"How?" asked Edge, jealously.

The Doctor laughed, then shouted, "What difference does it make? For God's sake, you're a child! An overgrown child!"

"So you know the story here? You know what that bitch did to me?"

"Something other than tell you _no _a hundred times?"

"That's not bad enough?" Edge sniffed.

"Yeah… what right does she have to decide what happens to her own body? What an outrage," the Doctor said flatly.

"Whatever," Edge whined. "Anyway, she pissed me off."

"Why? She said _fuck off_. Seems like she's been saying it for months. What makes this time different?" the Doctor asked.

"Because," Edge said, for a few moments reacquiring the drunken persona he was wearing the last time. He turned and stalked straight up to Curtis, got right beside his ear, and shouted as loud as he could, "It means that someone told her!"

"We didn't tell her, Edge," Tim insisted, being held back by one of the suits.

"That's bollocks, and you know it," Edge said, now quite calmly. "You and your retard brother probably thought you could flout the whole thing by telling her everything. Somehow. Well, you can see how well that's worked out, eh? Getting thrown off a roof wasn't part of the plan, was it?"

"She came to us herself," Tim said. "She heard about my brother's abilities, just like you did, and she wanted to solve a problem she was having."

Edge got in his face. "What fucking problem would that be?"

"_You_ would be the fucking problem, mate," Tim replied, unwaveringly.

"She sees _me_ as a problem? That she asked _you_ losers to solve?"

"You see _her_ as a problem that _you_ asked us losers to solve," Tim retorted. "How is that different?"

"Shut up!" Edge screamed. Then he seemed to realise something. "She stole the drawing, didn't she? Or you gave it to her. She came up here to steal _my _drawing, that I paid for, and she destroyed it!"

"No, no," Curtis said, his voice still pulled tight and long by trying to control sobs. "I still have the drawing. It's in my pocket. You asked me to finish it, so I… I… erm… I finished it."

Martha and the Doctor looked at each other with dread in their eyes, because they had both seen him begin the process of giving faces to the bodies in the pornographic drawing he had begun. Giving identities to the figures would make Curtis' weird brand of "magic" come to life. Presumably, until then, the drawing was just a drawing.

"Oh, God, what's he done?" Martha groaned softly.

Edge roughly thrust his hand into the pocket of Curtis' hoodie, and yanked free a now very worn, folded piece of paper. He opened it and looked at it.

At first, the Doctor wondered if the man might cry. Daniel Edge looked at the drawing pitiably, almost as though he wanted to put it out of its misery. Then he chuckled dryly, bitterly, and hissed, "You finished it. You finished it. You fucking… you are such a… I can't fucking believe this!"

And with that, he angrily ripped up the drawing into a bunch of uneven shreds, and threw them carelessly forward… fortunately, in Martha's direction.

It occurred to her then that they had no idea whether a torn-up drawing did or did not have power, and/or what that power might be. As long as it was Curtis' work, and Curtis was still plugged into the Ifasma Galaxy, it could still be "loaded." So she knelt, and began picking up the pieces before the wind could take them.

The men at the ledge watched the proceedings – all four henchmen, including Sam, plus the Malmay brothers.

"You," Edge said, noticing Martha for the first time, and speaking to her as though she were a servant. "Oi, you!"

"Oi, yourself," she shot back, annoyed, attempting, now with the Doctor's help, to grab all of the pieces.

"I'm talking to you."

"Yeah, I know."

"What was your name again? Marlene, right? Marlene Dietrich?"

Martha looked up at him momentarily, as though to say, _I can't believe you're this bloody stupid._ Though what she said, dryly, was, "Yes. That's me all right." Then she went back to what she was doing.

"Excuse me, I would like your attention," he commanded, with acid in his voice.

"I'm a bit busy. Literally cleaning up your mess."

Martha had one more shard to pick up, but much to her surprise and chagrin, Edge beat her to it. He stepped on it with his thousand-pound, designer black dress shoe, and said, "I might be convinced to forget this whole thing if you, my lovely, would take her place."

"Take her place?"

"Take the place of the stubborn, shrill, entitled little bint known as Stephanie Harvard."

"Havilland," Curtis corrected, once again. He just couldn't help himself.

"Take her place," Martha said flatly. "Like, in your bed."

"Where else?" he asked, with a disgusting smirk.

"Erm, I'm quite at a loss here," she said, standing up straight. "You see, I really, really don't want to see my friends, nor anyone else, thrown from the roof of a fifteen-storey building. But at the same time, I'd rather eat glass than go to bed with you."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Doctor reaching into his inside breast pocket, she assumed, for the sonic screwdriver.

"Aw, you don't mean that," Edge said to Martha, towering over her, attempting to sound flirtatious (or something) but only succeeding in sounding like an angry man with no other recourse. He attempted to touch her cheek, but she swatted his hand away. Not too hard – just enough to make him recoil slightly.

"Actually, I do," she said.

Edge looked at his henchmen and the Malmays with urgency, probably wondering if he should give the order to push them off.

Then he looked back at Martha. "What's wrong with you? Are you a lesbian?"

She pinched her eyes shut and shook her head, as if hoping to shed the fog of stupidity in this moment.

"That question is so off-the-rails offensive, I don't even know where to begin," she said.

Edge was quiet for a moment, then he asked, "Do you want your friends to be safe? You know what you need do," he said to her.

"No!" Curtis shouted. Again, he couldn't help himself. "Don't do it!"

"Curtis, shush. She can handle herself," Tim whispered.

"What are you, the villain from a bad pirate movie?" Martha asked Edge, with exasperation. "I let you have your way with me, or my friends walk the plank?"

"I didn't say that. I just said you know what you need to do. That phrase won't stand up in court."

"Blimey, don't you know _any_ other way to get what you want?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips, and studying Daniel Edge. "Maybe it's pathological. Have you had an MRI recently?"

The Doctor chimed in now, his voice rather low, contemplative. "Daniel, when was the last time someone did something for you, when you weren't paying them, or threatening them somehow?"

"What?" Edge spat, as though the Doctor had been speaking a different language.

"You heard me. When was the last time you got something you wanted, without using money or force? Surely, at some point, someone must've done what you wanted – brought you a gift, made you soup, gave you an extra large piece of cake – just because they fancied being kind to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The Doctor sighed. "Of course you don't." He began to walk around in a circle, thinking, talking. "Blimey, I almost feel sorry for you. Well, no _almost_ about it. What a sad, sad existence you must've led."

"Sad? Listen, little man, I am heir to a four-hundred-million-pound…"

"Yeah, you've got a private helicopter that could bring you to Leeds from London in an hour, and a mansion, a toilet made of gold, a diamond-studded yacht, blabbity blah. But do you have Stephanie Havilland? No. She's the one person who gave you a challenge, the one thing or entity that you ever wanted, who couldn't be swayed by your four-hundred-million pounds. Why do you think that is?"

"Enlighten me."

"You lack empathy. Kindness. Interest in others. You want her to be with you, but you are devoid of all the traits that make being with someone worthwhile. Why not cultivate that? Start right now by changing your mind. Call this off. Tell your men to get themselves, and Curtis and Tim, to safety. Go back to London. A Zen retreat probably wouldn't hurt, either."

"What would be in it for me?"

"Nothing, that's the whole point! You would be showing basic human decency, by not letting two people die needlessly – that's it! And then, maybe, you might begin to grow a soul!" the Doctor growled at him. "If you do that, someone might actually _like_ you, and not just be too frightened to say no."

"No, that's rubbish. I don't have Stephanie because she's too fucking stupid to fall in line," Edge protested.

"Wow," the Doctor exclaimed, genuinely surprised. He smiled, only because the conversation had become asinine. "Wow! You know, I thought I could show you that you can't get anything meaningful by doing what you're doing, but…"

"Stephanie is a person of substance," Tim said, from where he was. "And you are not. It's as simple as that. I'd like to say she's too good for you but…"

"Easy, Tim," the Doctor warned. "One twitch from Mr. Black Suit and you're toast, so let's not poke the socket with a fork, eh?"

Sam did the only thing he could. He reached out to his colleague's arm, and shook his head earnestly, imploring them both to hold still.

"Let's just say, Stephanie is cut from a different cloth," the Doctor said. "It's the kind of cloth that can't be shaped with money or power. It's the kind of cloth that requires an equal amount of the same cloth, the same _substsance_, as Tim put it. But how the hell would you know that? No one ever bothered to model that for you, so…"

Edge sighed hard. "I'm so bored."

"Yeah, I can see that," the Doctor said. "So I'll try to keep it short. I just have three things to say to you. One: I can see you becoming desperate. Stephanie is a no-go. You're not getting your way, so you're accusing, destroying, plundering, threatening murder, and trying to shoehorn Marlene Dietrich into being your concubine or something… and wow, that's a phrase I thought I would never say. Anyway, mate, desperation is never a good disposition from which to make decisions. Your friend Sam will tell you the same. If I were you, I would seriously consider backing the hell off. If nothing else, you don't want to wind up in the tabloids tomorrow."

"No deal. What else have you got?" Edge asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Really? Even the prospect of bad publicity? Okay, then. Two: you will never have what you're truly looking for if you force it and/or act like an adolescent – that's true of business, as well as relationships," the Doctor explained. "I'll admit, I'm far from being an expert in either, but I do know that much.

"And three: if you don't walk away from here right now and forget this whole thing, forget about Stephanie Havilland, Curtis Malmay, and Marlene Dietrich, and anyone else you have threatened and tried to intimidate during this ridiculous drama, then, well… I'll force you to."

"You? _You_ are going to force me?" Edge asked sceptically, with a smile.

"Well, yes. And I do see the irony in what I just said, but you know what? Desperate times."

Edge laughed. "How are _you_ going to force me? I can't be forced. And I don't walk away."

The Doctor smiled. "Now I almost _want_ you to try me."

Edge continued laughing. "That makes two of us, mate, because I'm just dying to see what you've got planned! You're a fucking stringbean! You think you can take me?"

"Oh, God, no," the Doctor conceded. "Not physically – no way. You've got at least an inch, twenty pounds on me. Plus, ten times the anger, and you're… well, a lot less than half my age. But see, that's where substance and brains come in handy."

"You're going to force me, with your brain, to run out of here with my tail between my legs?" Edge clarified, speaking to the Doctor as though the Time Lord were five years old.

"Yes. My brain. It's formidable. And I can use it to mess with _your _brain."

"Listen to him, Edge," Tim said. "He's wicked clever, and if he says he can mess you up, then he can mess you up."

"That's right," the Doctor agreed. "See, I _was _going to zap this whole great island of yours with enough of this specialised magnetic energy to erase Curtis' ability, and all memory of it from anyone in Britain. But that would have been a bloody big mess and I might've been tidying it for years to come. However, thanks to the lovely Marlene Dietrich, I was able to acquire a silver flask from this very roof, which had, fortunately for your fellow Britons, been in your mouth. Your DNA was enough to refine the process enough that I don't have to risk Curtis or anyone else – I can just risk you. A magnetic field will target you, Daniel Edge. And I've never worked with this specific type of energy before, so obviously, I've never used on a human. I honestly don't know what it will do to you, but I didn't have the full spectrum of time to refine it, so you can rest assured, there will be damage. What sort and how much… well, honestly, I'm starting not to care that much."

"Who the fuck are you, Captain Kirk?" asked Edge.

"Sir, I think perhaps it might be wise to begin minimising the damage here," Sam tried. "It might not be the worst idea just to get back to London ASAP and pretend we were never here."

"Yes, yes, I like that idea," Curtis said.

"Shut up!" Edge shouted.

"One last chance. I've got a device that can scramble _your_ specific neurotransmitters, and shutter all memories of Curtis into oblivion," the Doctor told him truthfully. "Maybe it will cause you to become a vegetable, maybe it won't - not entirely sure. So, bugger off, or brain damage. Your call." And he aimed the sonic screwdriver at the TARDIS, whose door was still standing open.

"You people… you people who think that brains and science rule the world," Edge laughed. "Let me tell you something: I've got politicians in my pocket. My father and I can influence policy. What brainiac can say that?"

"Well, if you get a tumour, perhaps those politicians can excise it with their policy," Martha said to him, with mock-sprightly optimism.

He smiled at her. "You fancy yourself quite brainy as well, do you?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," she replied.

"Okay, you were warned," the Doctor sighed. "I could tell you the possible side-effects, but you won't listen to them. Cross your fingers that one of them isn't permanent paralysis, though the possibility exists. At this point, as I said, I'm willing to risk it. What do you say, Dr. Dietrich?"

Martha chuckled. "I say, do it. He's had his chance."

"Cool- a second opinion. _Allons-y._"

But before he could press the button, the lift went "ding" once again, three people stepped out, and all eyes went to them.

One of the three they all recognised as Stephanie Havilland, in her familiar Middlesex sweatshirt. Another was an older man dressed in a grey cardigan. The third was a tall, aquiline, smart-looking, middle-aged woman.

She brandished a badge and announced herself, "Inspector Marie Spoonick, Scotland Yard. Mr. Edge, we need to talk."

* * *

**So it was a schizophrenic chapter, but did it meet its objectives? Haven't heard from anyone in a couple of chapters (not that I really have the right to complain after my five-month silence), but it would be nice to know what you guys think!**

**Thank you for reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

**So, the story's obviously winding down now, but this is not the end! The Axiothe Field still has a lot of work to do.**

**We left off on the roof of the Estate, things have got pretty hairy...**

**This is another pretty weird chapter. You should know that my area of expertise is not finance nor business, nor anything of that ilk! Neither are biology/medicine nor computers. (As it happens, I know quite a bit about history, linguistics, religion, and interpersonal dynamics... which do come in handy from time to time in fanfic!) To a certain extent, I am willing to read up on things, in order to get my fanfic ducks in a row, but there are a handful of topics that bore me to tears, and finance/business is one (two?) of them. So, I did some rudimentary research, and found out more or less what I needed to know to write this chapter, but I may have still got it wrong as far as the logistics, dynamics, ins-and-outs or whatever, of finance, business, and fraud. I tried, though, so please bear with me!**

**So, this is where Stephanie and Daniel's first meeting comes into play...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

SIXTEEN

To everyone's mild surprise, Sam, The Reasonable Henchman had chimed in. He showed his concern for the consequences of this pursuit, namely the deaths of innocents, ensuing chaos, prison.

"Sir, I think perhaps it might be wise to begin minimizing the damage here," Sam tried. "It might not be the worst idea just to get back to London ASAP and pretend we were never here."

"Shut up!" Daniel Edge shouted.

The Doctor had Edge in his sights, though was trying, as usual, for a peaceful resolution. "One last chance. I've got a device that can scramble your neurotransmitters, and shutter all memories of Curtis into oblivion. So, bugger off, or brain damage. Your call." And he aimed the sonic screwdriver at the TARDIS, whose door was still standing open.

But before he could press the button, the lift went "ding" once again, and three people stepped out.

One of them they all recognised as Stephanie Havilland, in her familiar Middlesex sweatshirt. Another was an older man dressed in a grey cardigan. The third was a tall, aquiline, smart-looking, middle-aged woman.

She brandished a badge and announced herself, "Inspector Marie Spoonick, Scotland Yard. Mr. Edge, we need to talk."

Daniel Edge completely ignored her, and looked right at Stephanie. "And so she appears."

"And so she does," Stephanie replied, calmly.

"Weren't you just in London two hours ago?" he asked.

"I was. As were you, I think."

"How the hell did you get here so fast?"

"Same as you," Stephanie shrugged. "Helicopter. Though, I don't have my own, funnily enough, so had to borrow one from law enforcement. But they were happy to oblige. Law enforcement are quite handy to have about when you've got evidence they want."

"What evidence?" Edge asked. "That I talked to some retard in Leeds about you?"

"No, of fraud. And possibly embezzlement, though that's a bit more complicated," she said, cheerfully.

Edge laughed. "Oh, I knew you were adorable, but this… this… oh, this is really one for the books. If possible, it makes you even cuter than you already were!"

"Daniel, do you remember where we met?" Stephanie asked him.

"Yeah, at the Barbican."

"Mm-hm," she agreed. "The Barbican Exhibition Hall, at a finance conference. I'm actually kind of surprised you remember."

"The Barbican – what of it?"

"In all this time you've been hounding me, being a complete pain in the arse, has it never occurred to you to wonder what I was doing there? And in all the times you've come to the university to accost me after class, have you ever asked me what I'm studying? No! Because if you can't drink it or fuck it, you don't care about it."

Martha couldn't help herself – she burst out laughing, then quickly stifled it.

"I asked you! I must've done!"

"Now, come on, Daniel, does that sound, in any way, like something you would do? Do you _ever_ ask people about themselves, if it isn't directly affecting you?"

"See? Told you," the Doctor sang at Edge.

"You've known me for over a year, but do you know how many siblings I have? Where I grew up? What my dad does for a living?" Stephanie asked.

Edge sighed. "Okay, no. So what?"

"But you did ask me if I was a _natural ginger_, and how many tattoos I have. By the way, I lied to you about that one. You asked me if I own a bikini, and if I had ever considered plastic surgery. You know where I live, and where I attend classes, and what my favourite cocktail is, all of which benefits you, in some lecherous, dickhead way. But my major? The thing I've chosen to study and devote my life to? The thing that occupies _my mind_ most of the time? No. But believe me when I tell you, you should have asked."

"Because I need to cultivate having a soul?" he asked her, rolling his eyes. He pointed to the Doctor. "Has this wanker got to you?"

"You definitely need to cultivate having a soul, but at this point, it might be too late. I'm just saying, if you weren't such a self-centered prat, you'd have asked what I study, and might have had the bloody good sense to leave me alone."

"What the fuck does that mean?" he spat.

"What does it mean? I study _finance_, arsehole. It means that I understand a lot more than you think I do, about your family. It means that when I get a bee in my bonnet about a man committing fraud, I know exactly who to call, and where to look, to get answers."

"What bee in your bonnet?"

"Do you know what I was doing all last night, Daniel?"

"No. I only know what you _weren't_ doing."

"I was with these lovely people," she said, smiling at Tim. "Tim Malmay, and his friends, the Doctor and Martha Jones. We drove around the city looking for you, and more importantly, looking for Curtis. And we talked, as we drove. We talked a lot about bars in the area, hotels, and the like. And… shell companies! _Dun-dun-dunnnn….."_

"Shell companies?" Edge asked, showing his first-ever sign of discomfort. He crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "Well, shell companies are perfectly legal."

"Yes, but they are often used to do illegal things," she said. "See, I've got this friend, Gemma, who works in the registrar's office at the university – you're not the only one with friends there. And it occurred to me that her boyfriend did some work for a company called Verge Interiors."

"Verge Interiors?" asked Edge, feigning ignorance.

"Which reminded me of something I learned in one of my finance classes: Verge Interiors is suspected to have been a shell company associated with Edge Enterprises. That's _your_ company, isn't it? Not your dad's – that's Edge, Inc. – but _yours_. Daniel Edge, C.E.O. Not that you ever do any actual work, but whatever. So, overnight, I went to talk to the very professor who had imparted this information during a lecture. Since you didn't ask, this nice man standing next to me is Dr. Hollis Dibbins."

"What the fuck?" Edge asked, looking back and forth between Stephanie and Dibbins.

"Hello, Mr. Edge. I have to admit, I think you're a terrible person, and so is your father, but it's kind of a coup to meet you in-person." Dibbins said, with a wry smile.

Stephanie continued, "Well, he had only mentioned the Verge/Edge connection during class in passing, so I didn't have any details. But I had read about Verge in the newspapers at the time, and I started to suspect… a thing. It was an inkling… a shadow of an idea. So I asked for Dr. Dibbins' help. He put me in touch with people, who put us in touch with other people, and we were able to connect the dots. Dr. Dibbins, would you like to take over from here?"

"Oh, no, Stephanie, this is your show," he said, still with a wry smile, looking over his glasses at Daniel Edge.

"Okay, Daniel, so, I'll just tell you what I learned. Verge Interiors was a company that existed for about a year, from April of 2005 to June of 2006. So, fourteen months, actually. And they contracted out to a number of small individual interiors companies – decorators, woodcarvers, flooring and carpeting designers, et cetera – promising several big projects with huge payouts, that they could never achieve on their own. But as a conglomerate under one large corporate heading, they were able to secure work in five casinos in both Blackpool and Atlantic City, and five hotels in Britain, all around the same time. Those casinos and hotels were owned by… ah yes, Edge Enterprises! But, here's the beautiful part: when Edge Enterprises paid for those services, they wrote out a check to… anyone? Anyone?"

"Verge Interiors?" Curtis asked.

"Bravo, young man," Dibbins said, cheerfully. "Mind if I…?"

"Be my guest," Stephanie said.

Dibbins took it from there. "Verge Interiors! Which then, not surprisingly, went under, declaring themselves bankrupt. They paid their office employees a severance amounting to about five hundred thousand pounds, and disappeared. Weird, eh? Thing is, about a year ago, someone started to put it together, and some rumblings of Verger as a shell of Edge Enterprises started to surface, but no-one could prove it. If it were true, it would mean that you, Mr. Edge, found a way to get your casinos and hotels built and furnished by artists at the top of their game… without paying any of them for their services. That would amount to, I estimate conservatively, a forty-five-million-pound fraud. Probably higher."

"So, they called me," said Inspector Spoonick. "I've been on a team investigating your family on the side, for years. This particular case had been somewhat on my radar, but when they told me they could produce a check stub for twenty-thousand pounds that Verge wrote to one of its employees, dated two days before the company shut down, I figured it's not hard proof but it was good enough for me. It might be flimsy, but it's got a shot at getting the ball rolling, that will eventually take you down… you, and by extension, your vile, cheating family."

"It won't hold up in court," Edge said, with a flick of his eyebrow, not bothering anymore with denial.

"Maybe, but it gets your sorry arse into jail for tonight, and opens up a brief that _could_ put you in prison for the next ten years. And that makes me want to do a little happy dance," Spoonick said, with a vindicated smile. "Daniel Edge, I'm placing you under arrest."

"Yes!" Martha could not help but shout.

The henchmen immediately let go of Curtis and Tim. The brothers hugged, and Sam bent forward, bracing his hands on his knees, visibly relieved.

"You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?" Spoonick said to Edge.

She walked around him as she spoke, and handcuffed him.

He chuckled. "You know, ordinarily, I don't mind being handcuffed by a woman, but you're on the severe side. You might want to soften up a bit, love. Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired."

"Uh-huh," Spoonick said absently. She turned to Stephanie as soon as Edge was restrained. "He'll likely only spend a night or two in jail, and I can't stop him from bothering you once he's out on bail, especially if you've got no proof at the moment. You might want to start working on a restraining order. You'll have to build a case for harassment."

"Great," Stephanie sighed.

"Ah, see, now," the Doctor interjected, stepping forward into the fray. "That's where I might have a solution."

"Hello, Doctor," Spoonick said with a little bow, and a smile.

He smiled back. "You know me?"

"I was there a month ago when there was an unidentified large animal on the roof of the Leeds City Museum, as well as a heavily-armed woman atop the City Hall. I was impressed with your work."

"Oh. Thanks."

"Since then, I've looked you up. UNIT have good things to say about you."

"Really? That's a first."

"You have a solution?" she asked. "To the harassment issue?"

"Yeah, well, it's not a _good_ solution, but it will make him leave Stephanie alone," he said.

Edge burst out laughing. "Oh right… you're going to scramble my brains!" He continued to cackle.

Spoonick looked at the Doctor.

"If you've looked me up, then you know my M.O., yeah?" he asked her.

"It's usually a bit weird."

"Alien, you mean," Martha said.

"Well, yes," Spoonick admitted reluctantly.

"I've devised, in my bit-weird-alien-way, a method of making Edge forget that any of this ever happened. It will definitely mess with his brain. The possibility of scrambling it exists as well… though it could go either way."

"He'll forget about me?" Stephanie said.

"I could never forget about you, lovey, lovey!" Edge practically shouted. Then he sort of stumbled toward her, apparently looking for a kiss, and she moved instinctively out of the way. He fell in a comical heap beside her.

And he laughed.

Everyone in the vicinity just stared at him for a moment. Daniel Edge was very often unhinged, but not in this way.

"Er… are you okay?" the Doctor asked him. "Sam, help me get him up?"

The two men grabbed Edge under the arms and stood him up again.

"Thanks guys," said the semi-delirious playboy. "Sam, you're the best. And you… whoever you are."

He had said this last bit to the Doctor, who just grunted, and moved away.

"He won't forget about you," the Doctor said to Stephanie. "But…"

"Who are all these people?" asked Edge, looking at Curtis, Tim, and Martha.

"You don't remember Curtis?" the Doctor asked, eyes narrowing at him, the way Martha's had previously. "Curtis Malmay? Red sweatshirt, draws really well?"

"Er, no," Edge said, looking Curtis over with disdain.

The Doctor's jaw dropped, as all of the players looked at each other in confusion.

"What's happened?" Martha whispered.

"Do you remember coming to Leeds?" Sam asked his boss.

"Pff, no! Leeds? No fucking way!"

"But you remember me?" Stephanie asked.

"Of course," he said to her. "You are unforgettable."

"Oh, boy," she sighed.

"Stephanie doesn't want to get involved with you, Daniel," Martha said. "What will you do about that?"

Edge laughed. "I've got a fucking yacht. She'll come around."

"So, you're just going to continue to show up after class, and tell her about how fabulous you are?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I guess. Women can't resist me. In the end, they all spread their legs for me." He then seemed to see Martha for the first time. "Speaking of which…"

"Oh, don't even start," she said. She turned to the Doctor. "What the hell is happening?"

He had been watching wide-eyed, and said, "We fed his DNA into the Axiothe Field's energy. The Field is sentient, and has a presence in the TARDIS. I think it found Daniel Edge, and did our work for us."

"The somewhat messy work, that might have given him brain damage…"

"Is now highly refined, and made him only momentarily addled. The Axiothe got between him and Curtis, and that's it. So everything associated with learning about Curtis' ability… gone. Including you and me."

"I don't understand a single thing that has happened in the last five minutes," Sam announced.

"Never mind," Spoonick told him. "Samuel Henderson, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I'll need you to come in for questioning. Actually, all you black suits," she said.

"Lead on," Sam said by way of assent, and gestured toward the lift.

"Mr. Edge, do you know why you are being arrested?" asked Spoonick.

"Er... something about Verge?" he asked.

"Right. Let's go," she said.

But, as a coda to the chaos, the momentarily unsupervised Edge advanced one more time on Martha, and said, "I don't know who you are, but you've got a crackin' arse."

"Back up, Mr. Edge."

"And if I weren't cuffed..." he continued, advancing further.

"Back. Up."

"I would have my hands all over you."

"And I would do this," she said, a split second before her fist made contact with his nose and left cheek.

"Martha!" the Doctor cried out instinctively. In fact, everyone made a surprised exclamation of some sort.

It made a smack-thud sound, and caused Edge to recoil from her, stumbling about. "She assaulted me! You saw! Everyone saw!"

"I saw nothing," Spoonick said, and she wrenched the cuffs backward, twisting his arms behind his back even further, causing him to grunt. "Let's go… march."

And with that, Daniel Edge, Sam, and three other henchmen filed out, along with Inspector Spoonick.

The Doctor, Martha, Tim, Curtis, Stephanie, and Dr. Dibbins now all closed into a small circle. Stephanie introduced her professor to everyone.

Martha then asked her, "What are you going to do? He can still find you. Mind you, he can't force cosmic magic to make you do anything you don't want to, but it's only a matter of time before he figures out something else disgusting, to force your hand."

"Yeah, I know," she sighed. "Maybe I need to let him find me, document it so I can prove harassment, and get a restraining order."

"You could transfer to the university here in Leeds," Tim suggested. "That might buy you some time to catch your breath. I mean, he could eventually find you, but it might take him a few months."

She smiled. "That's not a half bad idea. Who knows if he'd even still be interested, if I lived here?"

* * *

**Well, someone had to clock him. Might as well be the lovely Marlene Dietrich, eh? ;-)**

**So, what do you think? Leave me a review! And as always, thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

**We are now more or less in the aftermath of the Daniel Edge portion of the story... **

**Now comes the hard work of sorting out Curtis' situation!**

**Once more, a shout out to Sheena for being such a good sport, and sticking with me as a Beta, even after a five-month lapse. Thanks so much!**

**Oh, and yes. Daniel Edge is based on someone specific... the son of a current world "leader," who I'm hoping will not be a "leader" for too much longer. ;-) A couple of people have asked about that over the months... excellent call!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

SEVENTEEN

In Tim and Curtis' tiny kitchen, there the five of them sat: the two brothers, the Doctor, Martha, and Stephanie. They did the British thing after a difficult turn, and made tea.

Professor Dibbins had hitched a ride back to London with the Scotland Yard folks, and their charge, Daniel Edge. Before leaving, he had volunteered to give evidence at any harassment hearing on Stephanie's behalf, and definitely if he was needed to convict Edge of fraud.

"Does he even understand the connection between Edge trying to kill Curtis, and Edge harassing Stephanie?" Martha asked the group.

"Not unless someone explained it to him," the Doctor answered. "And even then, who the hell would believe something like that?"

"I thought about trying to explain it to him," Stephanie said, with a sigh. "But I knew I'd need a lot of time to convince him, and that we didn't have that kind of time, so I just gave him the normal, human-friendly, abridged version. Daniel Edge, harassing me, possible fraud, let's get him off my back."

Martha smiled at her. "The normal, human-friendly abridged version. You're becoming one of us."

"All I can say is that Professor Dibbins will be instrumental in bringing Daniel down," Stephanie said. "I'd bet that once they start digging, now that they know where to look, they will find about fifty more fraud and/or embezzlement cases they can pursue."

"But I'd bet that his lawyers are scummy and slippery enough to get him out of all of them," Tim sighed.

"Yeah, maybe," she chirped. "But he'll be tangled in court for a long time."

"Not long enough," he replied. "You really ought to think about moving away from London."

"But it should be somewhere other than Leeds," the Doctor suggested.

Tim's head snapped in the Doctor's direction. "What? Why?"

"Because Curtis is safe from Edge," the Doctor said. "He has forever forgotten Curtis and his abilities. If I understand the Axiothe Field correctly, it will have blocked him from knowing about Curtis permanently. But he still knows _you_, Stephanie, and he knows that he was in Leeds this evening, for better or for worse, and that he saw you here. If you relocate, it should be to a different town, because if he can't find you in London any longer, he'll redirect here. Moving to Chichester or Glasgow won't make you invisible, but it will buy you time to think things through. I might be able to help you get off the grid, if you want, but you'll have to change your name."

Tim's face grew red, with upset and embarrassment. Martha squeezed his hand sympathetically and gave him a look that said, "Sorry, but you know he's right."

"The good news is, Stephanie, you'll just have a run-of-the-mill harassment case to deal with, and not an intangible cosmic crisis which could have been rendered completely out of your hands," the Doctor continued. "You've got options now. Either build a case against him, or disappear."

"Then, we'll all have to move," Curtis said. "If she disappears, we will, as well."

Stephanie frowned. "Why? This isn't your problem. Actually, it never was. Never should've been."

"Because Tim…" Curtis began.

Tim interrupted him. "Because it _is _our problem. It _became _our problem, and we're all in this together. I think my brother means that we can't let you do something so big, so risky, on your own."

"That's not why," Curtis said.

This time, Martha patted Curtis' hand, and very quietly said, "Shhh."

True to form, Curtis listened to Martha, and clammed up, even though he didn't understand the nuances of this conversation. Though curiously, he had picked up on the nuances of Tim and Stephanie's rapport.

The Doctor and Martha both separately wondered how Tim would justify moving to wherever Stephanie went, as they could both see the mild panic in his eyes, and the problem-solving wheels turning.

"So, Doctor, you went to all the trouble of rigging up a device to scramble Curtis out of Edge's brain, and never used it?" Tim asked, now trying to change the subject.

"Yeah," the Time Lord sighed. "Truth be told, though, I'm glad I didn't have to use it. I mean, he still got zapped a bit, but the decision to risk high-stakes against a basically helpless human was taken out of my hands, and when that happens, I'm usually saner for it. The man needed a good mental bollocking, but boy, did I _not_ want to be the one to give it to him. Didn't fancy turning him into a vegetable. I've done too much of that rubbish in my life."

"So, the Axiothe Field acted on its own? Knew that Edge was causing problems, and decided to step in?" Tim asked, incredulous.

"See? What did I tell you?" Curtis muttered. "_Deus ex machina._"

"Yeah, well, this time, I'm perfectly happy to let the _Deus_ run the _machina_," the Doctor said, pulling one hand down over his face in harried fashion. "I fed it Edge's DNA, but that's it. For once, I feel like my hands are clean. Huzzah – I managed not to kill, maim, or incapacitate someone."

"Don't do that to yourself," Martha whispered.

He smiled wearily at her, then continued talking. "It must've been watching the action through the TARDIS or something, and realised what the problem was. Which brings up an interesting question about how to disentangle it from the TARDIS' inner-workings, but that's for another day, on down the road."

"So, you won't use either of the devices we worked on?" Martha asked.

"Well, I suppose if I'm wrong about the Axiothe's permanent effect, and Edge becomes a problem again, I could use it," the Doctor said, wearily. "And that would give me time to refine it, and maybe engage the Axiothe's help with the mechanism. Maybe it's something I could work on in my spare time…"

"Your what?" she asked, with a chuckle.

"I know, right?" he said. "Although… Santorini."

"Definitely," she said, sheepishly. "But there will be no talk of the Axiothe in Santorini."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed with a smirk.

"Santorini is in Greece," Curtis announced. "I don't understand the significance."

"You weren't meant to," Tim whispered. "Just let it go."

Curtis exhaled shortly, with exasperation. "Too many secrets in this group."

"As for the first device, as it were," the Doctor went on. "The messy one that was going to block Curtis from the Ifasma… well… that might depend upon the man himself."

Curtis drew up his hoodie tightly, and stared into his teacup. To Tim, it was clear that he had got there before the Doctor had voiced the concern, and had been sitting on the thought this entire time.

"Maybe the _Deus _will fix my _machina_ too," Curtis said, quietly.

"Maybe," the Doctor echoed. "But I'm guessing that since you're not actively hurting anyone, the Axiothe will give you the choice, and leave me to be the one to refine and detonate. And since we now have your person, and are not trying to work simply from your personal effects, I actually _can _refine it, and try to minimise the damage to the rest of your brain."

"Choices. Not good with choices," Curtis muttered.

"What's there to choose?" Tim asked him.

"How else are we going to make enough money to live?" Curtis asked him. "This is the _only_ thing I can do for us. If the Doctor takes that away, we will have nothing. I will have nothing. I'll be all lumpy and useless again."

"You have never been useless, mate," Tim told him. "You're my best friend. That's huge."

"Being your best friend doesn't pay the rent," Curtis murmured, pulling the string on his hoodie even tighter.

"No, but… maybe you could get a part-time job, see how it goes?" Tim suggested.

"I dunno… I dunno… I dunno…" Curtis began to panic, rocking back and forth in his chair. "What about Mrs. Marais, and Jessica? What will people like them do?"

"It's not your job to save everyone," Tim said. Then he smiled slightly. "It's the Doctor's."

Everyone at the table chuckled a bit, even Curtis, who stopped rocking.

"He's right, Curtis," Martha said. "Your job is to tend to yourself, and your brother. Live your life as best you can. Contribute to this world, as best you can. Fill the world with great art! Sell your drawings to people who only want them because they're beautiful! That's how you can help!"

"D'you think?" Curtis asked her.

"Sure – people do it all the time. Or, if you don't like that, then try to get a job, if you want – or at least work toward it. Maybe you could retrain some of your neural pathways in order to hold down more relationships with others, and maybe attend classes… I don't know! The world is your oyster. But making sure that Mrs. Marais can find a job, and that Jessica's boyfriend isn't a prat to her… none of that is your responsibility. Okay?"

"All of that is assuming that the Doctor doesn't electromagnetise the autism out of me," Curtis said, meekly.

"The more you cooperate, Curtis, the less chance there is of that happening," the Doctor reminded him.

"Can you give us a few days, Doctor?" Tim asked. "We need to have a family discussion."

Curtis burst into tight sobs then, once again, and covered his face with his hands.

"Sorry, did I say something wrong?" Martha asked.

"No," Tim told her, rubbing his brother on the back. "It's just a lot of information. A lot to think about, a lot of possible changes to navigate. One way or another, his routine will have to be modified, and that can be…"

"Okay, I understand," Martha said.

"He'll be all right in a moment," Tim assured the group, gently.

Martha instinctively reached into her pocket for a tissue, but realised that though she had nothing with which Curtis could wipe his tears, she did have something else.

Curtis calmed fairly quickly after the small burst of stress, and Martha said to the Doctor, "I still have all the pieces of his drawing in my pocket. Do you think it has power, even if it's torn up?"

"It's okay," Curtis said, sniffling. "It's finished, but I couldn't quite bring myself to put Stephanie and Daniel's faces in it, even though I knew he might try to throw me off the building. So instead, I drew the faces of a couple whom I knew wouldn't mind."

"Wouldn't mind?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. If my drawings of people cause them to do things, then I thought I should choose two people who wouldn't be damaged by… what the figures are doing in the drawing."

Everyone went silent. Tim and Stephanie frowned with confusion.

Martha and the Doctor looked at each other.

They had both separately had qualms about taking time, in the middle of a crisis, to see to themselves, their relationship, and finally consummate the connection they've had since day-one. They had seized upon an opportunity to melt together, become solid, with no interruptions, no thoughts of anything except one another, here and now.

The Doctor had been taken by surprise when Martha had suggested it, and had resisted at first. Then, after it was done (and done again), it was Martha who had had scruples and shadows of regret.

They both more or less agreed that it needed doing. They were not "square" with one another as long as he still had doubts about where her affections truly lie, and as long as she was feeling vexed by it. And in one act of love, they had managed to reassure each other, and become secure, thus freeing their minds to grapple with the Edge/Curtis/Stephanie problem.

But it _had_ seemed a bit "unlike" them. Martha had wondered, at one point, what had "come over" her, to switch off her phone, to demand that the Doctor silence the TARDIS' comms, to take his hand and lead him off to bed so boldly. The Doctor had been ultimately delighted by it, but had marvelled in those moments at how much she had changed – how unflappable and adult she was, after having spent a year with him, uncertain and sometimes a bit adolescent. Something had indeed "come over" her, he thought; something positive, enlightened, and strong. The change was more palpable than ever, just then.

And now, locking eyes at the Malmays' kitchen table, they had the same thought. They had been _drawn_ into this debacle several days previously because Curtis had created a picture of the TARDIS beside their sofa. What else had he drawn them into?

Martha had definitely seen Curtis look hard at her just before he began to fill in the faces.

The Doctor chuckled. "I know this goes without saying, but that's one hell of a superpower you've got, Curtis."

* * *

It was only about half-past nine on Thursday night when the travelling pair retired to the TARDIS. They hadn't slept the previous night (or day) for various reasons, and they both reckoned it was time to do so.

For Martha's part, she didn't have any choice. She was exhausted. They had all been running on adrenaline, and hers was now waning rather quickly.

Sleep. All other considerations would have to wait.

They remained parked on the roof of the building. They locked the TARDIS door, lay down on the Doctor's bed side-by-side, and drifted off. Well, the Doctor drifted off, eventually, after staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the pieces of the puzzle for about an hour.

In Martha's case, there was no drifting – there was an immediate _thud_ into dreamland, for the next fifteen hours.

When she woke, it was noon, and she was unsurprised to find she was alone. She felt she had a mission from the moment she sat up, so she quickly showered, subsequently deciding that she deserved to spend the next day or two in loose-fitting sweats and a comfy tank top in which she usually slept. Then she dug into the pocket of her jeans, and extracted all of the little pieces of Curtis' drawing.

She made her way to the console room. "Have you got any cello tape?" she asked, before saying hello.

"Good morning to you, too," the Doctor said, from his position staring at something on the control boards. "Well, afternoon now."

She smiled. "Hi. Hope you slept well. Have I told you today that I love you? Have you got any cello tape?"

He laughed. "Yes, in the supply room. Why?"

"I'm going to put the drawing back together," she told him, walking away.

He followed her. "The drawing?"

"Yes, the drawing."

"_The _drawing?"

"Of course. What other drawing do you know of that needs putting back together?"

"Why would you do that?"

"Just to see," she said. "Aren't you curious?"

"To see how Curtis imagines you and I might look during sex? Not so much."

"Well, yeah, when you put it that way, it's kind of disturbing."

"What other way is there to put it?"

"Someone very talented, and very sensitive, created what is undoubtedly a very beautiful likeness of you and me in the throes of physical love, and if we don't tape it back together, it will be lost forever."

He was walking down the hall behind her. "You can't see me, but I'm rolling my eyes."

"Yeah, that was bad. What difference does it make why I want to see it? I just want to see it."

He sighed. "Fine. Do you, by any chance, also want a sandwich?"

"Yeah."

"I'll meet you in the supply room in ten minutes with a ham and cheese. Or… possibly peanut butter. I'm not sure what we've got in – haven't been to a market in a while."

* * *

She ate her cheese and pickle sandwich while sitting on a stool on one side of the supply table, and with the Doctor leaning against the wall on the other side of it. They chatted while she had her lunch – the sandwich came with an apple and a soda from a company that had gone out of business in 1975. Though, the Doctor had just picked up a pack of four, perhaps three months prior, during a jaunt to the early sixties.

"I'll leave you to it," he said, as she finished up. "I've been experimenting all morning with the Axiothe magnetism."

"Again?"

"It's a sentient heavenly body, Martha. There's so much more to learn! And I want to learn as much as I can about it before we use it on Curtis – _if _we use it on Curtis."

"How could we not use on Curtis? He has _got_ to give up his power. It's too dangerous to exist. Isn't it?" she asked, with worry in her eyes.

"I think so," he agreed. "But... oh, but so many _buts_."

"Yeah."

He came round the table, kissed her, then took her plate and cup and disappeared.

* * *

**Well, what say you? I don't think I would put the drawing back together if I thought I was in it, but that's just me. Humans do all sorts of crazy things...**

**I really could use a review... thanks for all the feedback so far. It's been fantastic to hear from you! **

**Thank you for reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

**This story, by its nature, kind of has two climaxes because there were two big problems to solve. This chapter is like the eye of the storm, a calm between two climaxes. It's low-key, somewhat domestic, though it does have elements of ramping up to the story's end...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

EIGHTEEN

Twenty-two hours after Daniel Edge's potentially deadly standoff on the roof, followed by his arrest, Martha's phone rang. It was an unknown number, but when she answered it, Stephanie Havilland was on the other end. She announced that Scotland Yard had requested that she return to London to give a statement, and that Inspector Spoonick had promised that afterward, she would give her all the paperwork and specs needed to build a harassment case. Tim had urged her to call the Doctor, to see if there was a way for him to get her back to London, that wouldn't require her to hire a taxi for the three-hour drive.

And so, at 4:06 p.m. GMT, on that Friday, she had come up to the roof with Tim, he had kissed her restrainedly on the cheek, then she'd stepped into the TARDIS. She spent a few minutes near tears, as she tried to acclimate her mental equilibrium to what she was seeing. Martha gave her a hug, and told her to close her eyes. At 4:12 GMT, the two women stepped out of the box in front of Stephanie's student housing.

"Whoa!" she said, upon realising where she was. "Just like that?"

"Just like that," Martha shrugged.

"Worldview. Shaken."

"I know. You'll get used to it."

Stephanie stared at her shoes in the little grassy patch between the street and the walkway. "I'm going to have to start my life all over again, aren't I?"

"Not necessarily," Martha said. "You don't have to do that get-off-the-grid thing, like the Doctor suggested. You could build your harassment case, get a restraining order and…"

"What? Just _hope _that Daniel Edge follows the rules after that?" Stephanie scoffed, good-naturedly.

"Well, yeah… I suppose that's a bit of an ask. Well, you could just, you know… move quietly away from London. Give your info to your parents, and let that be that."

"But it can't be Leeds," she sighed.

"Well, just because the Doctor said it can't be Leeds doesn't mean it can't be Leeds."

"But he's right," Stephanie said, meekly. "Once Daniel realises I'm not in London, he'll go to Leeds. Then what?"

Martha sighed. "You don't have easy choices, but you do have choices. In the end, I can't say that Daniel Edge is harmless, but at least he doesn't seem to want to hurt you."

Stephanie nodded. Then, "What if he decides he wants to hurt someone I'm close to? Because, you know, maybe he sees that person as a threat?"

Martha smiled. "You mean Tim."

"Yeah," said Stephanie. "I think I'd like to give that a go."

"Good."

"Don't get me wrong – I slept on his sofa!"

"I didn't even… I don't care where you slept, Stephanie," Martha said, chuckling in the end.

"But what if I start up something with him – whatever city we're in – and Daniel finds me, and realises I'm dating someone? Won't he do anything to get rid of that person? I mean, Curtis might be safe from him, but is Tim? And wouldn't bringing his attention to Tim eventually bring his attention to Curtis?"

"Stephanie…"

Then, Stephanie's face lit up. "Or, if the three of us get a flat together, could I be hidden from Daniel, because Curtis is?"

"I cannot answer any of those questions, Stephanie," Martha said. "Sorry. The Doctor could answer some of them, but… the point is, none of that is particularly your responsibility. You are a good person, a clever person, and you are entitled to happiness. Same could be said of Tim. I could understand self-sacrificing for the good of Curtis, but now that he's safe from Edge, are you really going to let some rich arsehole decide whether you can or cannot date someone you actually like?"

"No," Stephanie whined. Then her voice solidified. "No. Certainly not."

Martha nodded, with some finality. "Again, your choices are not easy, but… there are things that can be done. The Doctor and I will help as much as we can. If you want our help, that is."

Stephanie gave her a hug, thanked her, verified that she had Martha's number in her phone, then went inside the building to shower and change clothes, before reporting to Scotland Yard.

* * *

Since they were already in London, Martha took that evening to visit her mum and dad, help them make dinner and break the news gently that she was travelling with the Doctor again… and that they were "together" now.

Her mum had taken her by the jowls and said, "Now you listen to me, Martha Jones…"

Martha was winding up to react with something like, "No, I'm finished listening to you on this matter," but she didn't have to. Her dad had stepped in and removed Francine's hands with both of his.

He said, "Francine, darling, we can accept this, and eat our ziti with some dignity, and send her off with hugs and kisses. Or, we can fight about it, have a bitter dinner, and possibly not see our daughter again for six months. Your choice."

"Well, whatever happens, I promise we won't be gone for six months without at least popping in to say hello," Martha said. "But I still would really rather eat ziti with dignity than without it, given the option."

"Good, it's settled," her father said, gesturing for her to sit at the table. When she did, he pushed her chair under, like a gentleman. He sat down beside her, and began to spoon pasta onto her plate. "So, tell us how it happened. After all this time, what made the Doctor come to his senses?"

Francine still stood, watching in disbelief.

"Well," Martha said, with a giggle. "It's actually a pretty good story. It all started with a dragon on the roof of the Leeds City Museum."

"I heard about that!" Clive laughed. "Thought it was a hoax. Although, I don't know why I would think that, knowing what we know."

"Well, it wasn't a hoax! Weird things were happening, and UNIT got in over its head, so…"

Clive looked up at his wife. "Are you really going to refuse to hear this story? Come on! Dragon! That alone has got to be worth a listen!"

Martha's mother sighed, and sat down. She sipped her wine, and paid attention to the story.

* * *

The night in the TARDIS was spent very much the way in which any new couple might spend an unfettered night alone. Except that most couples don't park in deep space.

They were tumbling into and around each other until the wee hours of the morning, absolutely guilt-free. Whatever weird circumstances had pulled them into their first liaison, tonight was all for them. Martha had left her parents more or less at peace with things, Daniel Edge was in jail for a few days, Stephanie and Curtis were safe for the time being...

"...and Tim has a fitting romantic prospect, complicated though it may be," Martha pointed out.

"Does it still matter?" the Doctor asked, cooling down, between bouts of intense heat.

"Yes, because he's our friend, and he needs this," Martha said, her head lying against his shoulder, fingers running lazily through his light smattering of chest hair.

"Ah. Yes. Well maybe they can stay with us for a bit, until things blow over."

"All three of them?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I suppose they will come as a packaged trio now, won't they?"

"For the foreseeable future, I'm thinking, yes," Martha assented. "Might not be the best idea to drag Curtis into this life."

"On the other hand, he _could_ be the greatest asset we could hope for," the Doctor contemplated. "Something tells me he'd be able to see through bullshit that even I couldn't navigate in a timely manner."

"Could be. I suppose it might depend on what he decides to do, you know… brain-wise."

He sighed heavily, wearily, and placed his free hand on his forehead. "There are beings in the universe who should not exist, yet they do, and it could happen again. The lovely but extremely vulnerable man who created them could come under fire from any other spoiled rich bastard, or the mob, or God forbid, a government! Or aliens! All word has to do is leak out a little bit more, and the very, very wrong people could find out about what he can do, which could put countless others at risk. And whether we can stop it or not all depends upon whether said man, who sees the world _vastly_ differently than we do, decides to trust me against his own better judgement, and submit to experimentation."

"Yes. This is nothing new, unless I'm missing something."

"Meanwhile, a fine, innocent young woman is in danger of stalking, retribution… well, let's just say it: rape, murder, or at least lifetime entanglement, if not some type of enslavement. I mean, look what happened to Sam! And we could help her, but it's possible that she would rather take her chances with a harassment claim and restraining order, which may or may not do any good. And yeah, Edge may be charged with fraud and myriad other things and wind up going to prison, but there is every possibility that his people will get to Professor Dibbins first, and threaten him into silence. And anyone and everyone else who has dirt on him. It could all hinge on people making ridiculously frightening choices – a bunch of people we don't know at all."

A pregnant silence hung in the air between them, as they both contemplated, in different ways, what the Doctor had said.

Finally, Martha said, "Doctor, these might be considerations for another day. Let's work on Curtis for now, yeah?"

He was quiet for another minute. Then, "Sometimes I don't do well with things being left up in the air. Being left to chance."

"I know that about you. I've seen it over and over. But it's not left to chance. It's left to human will. Human intelligence and decision-making."

He clicked his tongue. "I just wish I could count on people making the right decisions."

"You wish you could control things."

"Not necessarily…"

"Doctor, you can save the universe, but you can't save everyone in it. Wait… let me rephrase that…"

"I know what you mean," he said, stroking her arm. "You're telling me to stick to the macro, rather than the micro."

"Well, no. It's just that you can do macro, when no one else can. The micro is all down to individual lives, and, for example, how badly Curtis and Stephanie want to be free of that arsehole. And that's where _our_ intervention gets hairy. They have to want it."

"But what if an individual life affects the macro?"

"Curtis' ability? Yeah, it's tricky. There is a school of thought that says we should just force him."

"Yes, there is."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

"Now _you're_ channeling Captain Kirk," he chuckled, remembering an annoyed comment fired at him by Daniel Edge.

"But you know you can't."

"I know."

"All morality aside, all of the should-we-or-shouldn't-we considerations aside, _you_ would never be able to force a man, to force Curtis, into being blocked by the Axiothe Field's magnetic energy. Not considering what's at stake."

He was quiet for a long moment, then said, "No, I wouldn't."

"Edge was one thing. Curtis is another. Even the Axiothe itself seems to think so."

"Yep."

"It has to be his choice."

"Yep. So what do I do? Just wait around, _hoping _Curtis decides to do what I think is the right thing?"

"I'm afraid so. Fortunately, I'm here to help you kill some time."

* * *

By noon on Saturday, they were parked atop the Estate building in Leeds again, but no-one knocked on the door until teatime.

"Martha?" a voice said, after four sharp raps. "It's Curtis. Er, Curtis Malmay."

"And Tim," a second voice said.

It was the Doctor who opened the door. "My favourite brothers! What brings you to the roof again, this fine Saturday afternoon?"

"I want to do it," Curtis said, quite seriously.

The Doctor studied him with an earnest frown. "Sure?"

"Yes," Curtis said. "I think… I have to."

The Doctor nodded subtly, then stepped aside so that Curtis and Tim could step inside the TARDIS.

Martha was just emerging from the hallway. "Hi, guys."

The three of them looked at her rather gravely, and immediately, she understood.

"Come on through," the Doctor said, gesturing toward the console. "Have a seat, Curtis."

Curtis obeyed, and took the only chair in the room. He sat with his heels on the footrest, his forearms resting on his thighs, and his hands clasped. "Okay. What do I do?"

"Well, the first thing you need to know, Curtis, is that this might take a couple of days to do correctly," the Doctor said, crossing his arms over his chest, and leaning against the controls. "The more we study, the more we refine, the better your chances."

"Okay," Curtis repeated. "What do I do?"

"Mostly nothing," answered the Doctor. "Just follow directions, sit, stand, and let me take readings. Probe a bit. Try not to fight me."

"Doctor, one thing," Tim said. "Could this… you know… kill him? 'Cause giving up his quirky side is one thing, but giving his life is another."

"No, it won't kill him," the Doctor said. "I'm ninety-nine per cent sure of that."

Curtis searched the room, and found Martha, standing slightly behind him, and to his left. He looked askance at her.

"The Doctor knows best about stuff like this," she told him. "I trust him."

"I'm also ninety-nine per cent certain I can sever the connection between you and the Ifasma Galaxy," the Doctor continued. "So, one way or another, you'll be free of your reality-manipulating, conjuring power, or whatever it is. You won't be able to draw things into being even if you want to."

"That'll be a relief," Tim said. "Won't it, Curtis? You said it yourself just an hour ago."

Curtis nodded, remained silent and worried, but did not pull up his hood.

"Maybe following Stephanie to a new town wouldn't be the worst thing," Martha offered. "If no-one knows who you are, no-one can ask for anything."

"But as things stand, I'm only fifty per-cent certain that you will come out of this exactly the way you are now," the Doctor continued. "It's a difficult truth, Curtis."

"I understand," Curtis whispered.

"I'm going try my absolute hardest to dose you with as small and specific a magnetic concoction as I can. The more specific, the smaller the dose that could be effective. Though, either way, it'll be pretty big. But the possibility of relative safety does exist. We would need your DNA. We would measure your brainwaves again. We might even need you to draw something, just to see what occurs in your noggin while you're manipulating reality, and perhaps reverse-engineer it. It may or may not hurt. Are you okay will all of that?"

"I suppose so."

"If at any point you feel you cannot continue, I can stop. But the more rigorous the tests…"

"We get it, Doctor," Tim said. "The more he cooperates, or endures, or submits to, the more specific you can get with targeting _him_, and this particular neurosis, if that's what we can call it… this weird ability of his."

"Correct," the Doctor confirmed.

"His DNA, specific brainwaves, et cetera will allow you to train the magnetic energy as to what – or who – to look for. It will take time and patience to nail down the particular frequency of his GABA and then figure out precisely how, and how much, to change it," Tim went on.

"Yes, and whether that is all that is needed," the Doctor added. "Because I rather doubt it's as simple as all that."

"Okay. But, without super-specific research into Curtis' minute data, his precise vitals, the magnetic field might change his GABA, but also a bunch of other stuff that doesn't need changing. Have I got it right?"

"You do," the Doctor sighed. "Sorry – I guess I've been assuming that this thing was too abstract for anyone to understand."

Tim shrugged. "We talked about the tests you did on him when we first met you, back when there as a dragon to deal with. That, along with what happened with the magnetic pulse and Edge, kind of helped us delineate it all."

"Well," the Doctor said, pulling one hand down over his face. "The good news is, now that we don't have the threat of Edge, and Stephanie is safe for the time being, we have all the time in the world to get this right. The bad news is, until we 'detonate,' as it were..."

"Detonate?" Tim asked.

"Yes... release the energy, use it on Curtis, _use_ what we have to solve the problem..."

"Sorry, it's just _detonating_ is what you do to a bomb."

"Well, okay... it's not a bomb. It's a refined concoction of energies being channeled," the Doctor sighed. "The point is, we will never know whether we've got it right."

"What? You can't know?" Tim asked. "So we're just taking a run at it, completely in the dark?"

"Sort of. Sorry. There isn't another Curtis Malmay in the universe that we can use as a guinea pig, and no other human will do."

"So we can test and refine until we're all old and grey – well, at least Martha and Curtis and I – but in the end, we'll just have to take the plunge?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. Sort of. Sorry."

Tim and Curtis looked at each other.

"We understand," Curtis said, on behalf of both.

Tim didn't seem so sure, though.

They were all silent for a few moments, then the Doctor said, "Curtis, I know you don't really care what I think or feel…"

"That's not true," Curtis interrupted, meekly. "You're a nice man."

"Well, yeah, sometimes," the Doctor agreed. "But what I _think_ is that you are a very brave soul for agreeing to do this. And what I _feel_ is relief. I know it was a way for you to make some extra cash, but your power is huge, and it comes with a huge liability. I would worry about you all the time if Martha and I walked away today."

"Yes," Curtis said.

"The word you're looking for is _thanks_," Tim said. "The Doctor paid you a compliment."

"Thanks," Curtis whispered.

"No," the Doctor said. "Thank _you_."

* * *

**I'm a bit inesecure about this chapter - I feel that something is missing. Let me know your thoughts! Hearing from you makes my day and the previous chapter rendered everyone silent! Take a minute, leave a review! **

**Thanks for reading!**


	19. Chapter 19

**As I mentioned in the notes on the previous chapter, this story has two climaxes. Now, watch us climb to the second one! **

**Curtis has made his decision - he's going to let the Doctor test him. A lot. What will be the cost? And what crazy sh*t can the Doctor dream up to do to this guy? And how much longer will he let people critique his methods? (Well, I think we all know the answer to that.)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

NINETEEN

Two full days.

Four finger pricks. Twenty-one total hours being monitored on a standard, Earth-based brain-wave monitor, mostly by an Earth-based doctor. Thirteen-and-a-half total hours under a non-Earth-based brain probe, of the sort the non-Earth-based Doctor had used upon their first meeting. Two MRIs. One full set of fingerprints. Two cheek swabs. One red hoodie donated to the cause, as well as a video game controller. Two sessions of measuring how Curtis Malmay breathes. Countless checks of his vital signs – blood pressure, pulse, temperature, oxygen levels…

Unfortunately, hundreds of tears.

Three drawings done, just to monitor the electrical activity in his brain while manifesting reality – one rendering of a bowl of lentil soup, one full-colour portrait of Martha wearing a purple tee-shirt, and one flower pot outside Mrs. Marais' front door. The soup had appeared on the console, Martha's white tee-shirt turned purple, and presumably, a little geranium surprised Mrs. Marais when she stepped out to pick up the post (though, no-one checked). Yet this particular experiment yielded surprisingly little new information.

Any psychopharmaceuticals that had been prescribed to Curtis were handed over to Martha, and she researched them, analysed the chemistry, and she and the Doctor cross-referenced any findings, to see if they could be useful to the process. The Doctor took advantage of any time that he could, while Martha monitored Curtis (or had the audacity to sleep), to study the magnetic field that was the catalyst for all of this, the thing that might solve their very weird problem. He fed Curtis' numbers and vitals and whatsits into the sentient data banks currently shared by the TARDIS' consciousness and the Axiothe energy. Very little happened, except, he reckoned, the sentiences chewed on the information, to glean what they could, and wait for instructions.

"I wonder what would happen if Curtis interacted with the Axiothe field, of his own accord," the Doctor mused, leaning back in a kitchen chair for a break with Martha and Tim. Curtis took his break in their flat, in the form of a nap. "If we opened up the console room to it, and allowed it to waft, would it lock onto Curtis? And if it did, could they commune somehow? I can't help but think that would make things go more smoothly when the time comes to detonate."

"Detonate," Tim whispered. "I hate that we're using that word. It's so violent."

"Sorry," the Doctor muttered.

"It's like you're planning to blow up his brain."

"I'm doing my best, Tim," the Doctor said to him, uncharacteristically meekly.

"What if you did open up the tap on the Axiothe energy, and it locked onto him, and damaged him?" Martha asked. "A magnetic field that is a force in the cosmos…"

"Yeah," the Doctor commented from seemingly quite far away. "But that's been the problem all along."

"Could you do it slowly?" Tim asked. "Like turning on a faucet with just a trickle at first, to test the temperature?"

"I don't know," the Doctor replied. "If it's giving us the choice of what to do with Curtis, whereas the Field took care of Daniel Edge on its own, then I reckon it would seep in slowly anyway. It would explore him gently…"

"Then why are we doing any of these tests?" Tim asked.

"Because the dose it's going to take to sever his connection with the Ifasma Galaxy actually does carry a risk. But it might lessen the impact if we can… you know, allow the trickle. It's like injecting a bit of a virus in order to build immunity."

Tim looked at Martha. "Does that make any sense?"

The Doctor tried not to make any comments about the fact that both Tim and Curtis turn to Martha to verify the Doctor's musings, as though he would lie to them, or make outlandish claims. They were scared, he knew, and Martha was a good anchor to reality. It was part and parcel of what they had been doing all along... trusting the Doctor when it suited them, looking to Martha for reassurance.

"The virus thing makes sense," she said to Tim. "But magnetic trickle brain exploration thing… way outside my ken."

"Another thing occurred to me, just before Curtis left," the Doctor said, again from far away. "He got so upset that it made me wonder… should we have just let him melt down?"

He was referring to the near-hysterics Curtis went into when the Doctor locked both of his hands into a device meant to measure skin density, study cells, and analyse the strength and makeup of his fingernail fibres. After two full days of tests, this was what finally caused him to refuse to go further, begin to repeat himself, to pace, and try to find a way out.

Thus, he was napping in his own bed.

"Excuse me? Let him melt down?" Tim asked, incredulous. "I spend my life preventing him from…"

"I know," the Doctor said. "But it might be said that when he has a meltdown, that is his autism showing itself at its worst. Or best, dependent upon how one chooses to see it. Any symptoms he has –exaggerated pedantry, fierce intelligence, artistic talent, sensitivity, insistence upon routine, adherence to logic, et cetera, et cetera… these are what make him him. They make him Curtis. These are the qualities we are eager to have him keep, yeah? We're doing all these tests to refine the process, because we are afraid that all those quirks will leave him."

"Right…" Tim said, tentatively.

"Well, when all of those things get jostled, as it were… when he starts to realise that those mechanisms will not serve him well in a particular situation, that's when he has a meltdown, am I right?"

"Yeah," Tim replied, sort of surprised to hear such a furious, nebulous phenomenon put into words. It had never occurred to him to try.

"Then doesn't it make sense that the Axiothe Field should witness this? Or at the very least, that we should study it?"

"It does to me," Martha said. "Though I'm not savvy enough about the cosmic bit to be able to tell you why. But based on what I've seen…"

"Or, here's another hypothesis," the Doctor offered, not really hearing her. "What if we did our detonation – sorry Tim, it's only for lack of a better word – _during _a meltdown?"

"What?" Tim asked. "Are you kidding?"

The Doctor shrugged. "No," he said. He thought about it for a few moments. "We're afraid that the Axiothe Field's energy in high doses will zap his quirks into submission. But what if we stimulate the quirks to the point of overload? Make them strong and ferocious, mix them up, confuse the Axiothe just enough that it doesn't quite know what to do with him?"

Tim was silent for a few moments, then asked, "Would that pose any larger risk than doing it while he's calm?"

"Shouldn't," the Doctor answered. "One way or another, it's a risk… the meltdown idea might just improve our odds, is all. It's also just a hypothesis. There might not be any way to test it – that's the problem."

"What do you think?" Tim asked Martha.

She shrugged, looking at the Doctor. She said to Tim, "Again, I'm not savvy about cosmic energy – that's the Doctor's area. But it does make a kind of weird sense to me, and I'm always inclined to trust the Doctor. That's all I can tell you."

Tim shook his head slowly. "It seems manipulative to me."

"It is," the Doctor agreed. "We would have to push him into a meltdown. Forcing a man into artificial hysterics… yeah, it's manipulative."

"Plus, we can't ask Curtis what he thinks about it, because it might negate the result. And that brings up ethical questions," Martha reminded him.

"So you need _me_ to be okay with it," Tim said, sitting back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I don't know what the hell we need," the Doctor told him, honestly.

* * *

After two days, all parties involved felt that a bit of rest was in order. It was late afternoon on a cloudy English Sunday…

But rest was not to be.

Actually, Curtis took some rest when he went down for his kip. Tim, Martha, and the Doctor did not have repose in the cards.

After Tim had returned to the flat, so that he could be there when Curtis woke, the Doctor asked her, "Fancy a lie-down?"

Martha had not yet learned his tells. She had no idea whether this was an innocent proposition (because they were both exhausted again), or an innuendo (because they were both in love and excitable).

Either way, she was game.

So they headed down the hall, and shut the door to "their" bedroom.

The funny thing about having a space that is bigger on the inside than the outside, is that even infinite with interior space, all parts of that space (in a sense) touch the exterior. Therefore, when an agitated man begins banging on the door, even when one is in a bedroom a hundred yards of labyrinth away from said door, one can hear it loud and clear.

"Martha! Doctor!" Curtis' voice came careening through the hallways, practically vibrating the TARDIS.

They ran back down the corridors as the banging and yelling became more and more insistent. The Doctor got there first, and threw the door open. "Curtis! What's with the racket?"

"You manipulative arse," Curtis said, his voice thin, his breath quick.

"Yeah," the Doctor sighed.

"I told him," Tim said, from behind his brother.

"I can see that."

"I couldn't not," Tim insisted, with worry in his eyes.

"I understand," the Doctor said.

"I couldn't risk you trying to push him…"

"Tim, I get it," the Doctor insisted. "It was just an idea anyway."

Curtis all but shoved the Doctor out of the way whilst striding into the TARDIS console room. "You want me upset? Well, you've got it. Let's do this thing _now._ Where do I stand to get zapped?"

He walked up the ramp and stopped when he got to the console, with his back to the others. He put one hand on his hip, as he tended to do when people were being tedious, and waited.

"Okay," the Doctor said, closing the door and bracing himself. "Okay. You know we're not one-hundred-per-cent."

"When will that be, Doctor?" Tim asked.

"_Touché_," the Doctor muttered. "Curtis, I just don't know…"

Curtis turned round and faced the Time Lord, a man whom he only intermittently liked, rarely trusted, and didn't fully believe (even now) was real. "I'm not an experiment, Doctor!"

"I know!"

"I'm not someone you can just stick needles into, or put in an oven!"

"An oven?"

"That's what he said the MRI felt like," Tim clarified.

"And my feelings are real!" Curtis insisted. "They're not for you to just play with!"

"I know! That's why we're doing this, isn't it? Because your feelings are real? Because you want to keep them intact?" the Doctor asked, his heart sinking.

"But Tim said you wanted to make me upset so I'd… I'd…"

"It was just a thought, Curtis," the Doctor said, pleading with both hands out to his sides. "It was something that popped into my head, that I voiced. That's it! I had no plans to…"

"Well, you got your wish. I'm upset. Are you going to do it or not?"

The Doctor looked at the other two humans in the room. Tim looked like he wanted to cry, and Martha looked pained as well, though it was a pain that reflected the Doctor's pain.

"Agitation, pedantry, sensitivity… it's all heightened right now," the Doctor said to them. "It could make him stronger and get him through."

"I'm with Curtis," Tim said. "Let's just be done with this rubbish, for better or for worse. It's killing us both."

The Doctor said nothing. He walked the rest of the way up the ramp, and sat Curtis down in the navigator's seat, by gently taking his arm. The man watched him suspiciously as he moved round the console, and readied the Axiothe energy, the mind probe, and the rigged-up generator that would cause the "detonation," as he called it.

The controls made heating-up noises, vented warm air, and the lights inside churned.

Martha's stomach did flips.

The Doctor did one last dance round the console, rather more slowly than usual, double checking settings, resetting calibrations… stalling. And scowling. Deeply.

It was rare that he reached a point this late in a conundrum, and couldn't think of any alternatives.

But here he was. And the Malmays were asking to be rid of the whole damn ballgame.

"So, I guess this is it," the Doctor said, placing a crown-like metal probe on Curtis' head. "Curtis, I need you to tell me one more time that you want me to pull the trigger."

"Pull the trigger. Again with the violence," Tim sighed, coming up to the platform to join them.

The Doctor spun round and daggers in his eyes were now aimed at Tim.

"Then _you_ come up with a euphemism for it, Tim, because I can't. I won't! I don't want to think of a _gentle_ way to describe what's about to happen!" He took three heavy steps closer to Curtis' exhausted younger brother, and continued. "It's a shedload of magnetic energy from the cosmos that I'm about to unleash upon your brother, and it may or may not damage him for life. At the very least, it's a question of whether or not he'll be the brother you know, in the end. What would you like me to call it? Curtis has already said he's not my bloody experiment. It's not a _project_. I'm not _gifting _him with energy from the universe, I'm not _bestowing,_ I'm not _channeling _exactly, nor am I _zapping, _all right? I'm detonating. I'm pulling a trigger. I'm firing a fucking cannon. I don't want to, but it's what needs to be done. I've spent the last forty-eight hours doing everything in my power to keep him safe, and you're still whining about the semantics!"

"I'm sorry," Tim said, rather quietly.

"I could do it gently," the Doctor continued. "I could let the energy waft. We can sit about and wait for it to do to him what it did to Daniel Edge. But none of that will do any damn good, and you know it! I could act like this is going to be fun. I could lie to you and say it's risk-free. Or, I could walk away right now and _you _can come up with a way to sever your brother's connection from the Ifasma Galaxy, your choice."

"Sorry," Tim repeated.

"I get that you're worried. I get that you think I don't appreciate the dilemma, how amazing Curtis is, the way he is. I get that you think Martha is your buffer against me and my inhuman ways. But I'm tired of feeling guilty for not tiptoeing around it. I'm tired of being second-guessed, talked about like I'm not in the room, called a manipulative arse, or insensitive, or unreal, or a _Deus ex machina_ problem-solver. Because kids, this has to do with a man's brain, electromagnetic energy, and the bending of reality. Do you think I can solve this with software? With a lovely-tasting potion? With magic beans? No! It's a big, fat, messy mess mess mess! And it's going to get hairy and it's going to be dangerous, and even after all this time working on it, I have no way of knowing _how _dangerous until we do it! And, Tim, as it stands, unless anyone has better ideas, it's a problem only I can solve. I might literally be the only man in the universe who can help you! So are you going to shut up about my language and let me work?"

"Yes. Again, I'm sorry. I understand your anger."

"Do you? Do you really?"

"Well, I used to complain when my mum overcooked the pot roast, but it's not like I could make one myself, so I should have just kept my mouth shut, and been glad there was food on the table."

"Well, it's a weak analogy, but it'll have to do," the Doctor said. "Curtis, tell me you're ready. Or that you're not – that's all right, too."

"I'm ready," Curtis said, eyes wide, reeling from the Doctor's rant.

The Doctor reverted to silence, then, reached out for the controls.

"Wait!"

The Doctor's stomach did a somersault, and his shoulders drooped. He cursed under his breath, and looked up.

Though, to his surprise, he realised that this time, the protest came from Martha.

* * *

**Okay, friends... I could use a review or three. ;-) What are your thoughts on the Doctor's rant? What he wanted to do to Curtis? **

**Two more chapters coming after this, and then we'll say goodbye to the Malmays! Thanks so much for reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

**This is the second-to-last chapter! Amazing, considering that for months, I honestly wondered if I could ever again find the wherewithal to finish it. It's been really fun hanging out with Curtis, and exploring his abilities, and lot in life. Speaking of which, in case I haven't said so in a couple of chapters, I'd like to give a special thanks to Sheena, who betas with love!**

**So, we're coming off a big rant from the Doctor, AND in spite of that, Martha bringing everything to a screeching halt! Does she have a bright idea? ;-)**

**Also, nasty cliffie, just warning you now!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

TWENTY

It had been a hell of a week. For days, the Doctor had toiled within himself over the idea that the Axiothe Field might damage Curtis, change his autism irreparably, and leave behind a man that functioned more like an average person, but whom no-one would recognise. In Curtis' eyes, and those of his brother, it would leave behind a husk of who Curtis once was.

In the eyes of the Doctor, it was all in the name of doing what he normally does: trying to eliminate bugaboos that threaten the universe, or at the very least, localised portions of a planet he loved.

He had tried to remain sensitive, while keeping the Earth's well-being in his sights. He had tried not to think of it as _collateral damage_ that was incredibly small in comparison to the harm that might be done. He had tried to understand the Malmays' lot. He had tried to defer to Martha on the "human" aspects of the dilemma. He had tried not to take it personally when Curtis questioned his expertise, or even his very existence, and when Tim's trust in him wavered with the changing of the wind. He had tried to hedge his words, and not rile anyone, but he was finished now. He was not the "good guy" in this scenario, who was going to hold their hands and tell them everything would be all right. Nor was he the bad guy.

He was the guy who did what needed to be done. Full stop.

This Doctor had never had a particularly effective bedside manner, because he couldn't afford to. And he was bloody sick of being judged for it.

And finally, he had shut it all down. He had silenced everyone else in the TARDIS, as the Malmays realised that when there's only one man who can solve your otherwise unsolvable problem, perhaps you should not complain about his work. Piss him off, and who would take his place?

"Curtis, tell me you're ready. Or that you're not – that's all right, too," the Doctor said, his heart in his throat.

"I'm ready," Curtis said, eyes wide.

The Doctor reverted to silence, then, reached out for the controls.

"Wait!"

His stomach did a somersault, and his shoulders drooped. He cursed under his breath, and looked up.

Though, to his surprise, he realised that this time it was Martha.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Martha, but this better be really fucking good," he said to her, jaw clenched so hard, his teeth were beginning to ache.

On another day, she might've taken exception to his tone. But today, she merely spoke quickly.

"I was just thinking," she said, coming up the ramp (as she had been standing, this entire time, just inside the door). "You floated that idea of a detonation with Curtis in mid-meltdown, and that's what's led us to this moment - he's here because he's upset. Two minutes ago, you were justifying detonating _now_, because some of the symptoms of his autism are heightened in his current state of anger and panic."

"Yes, and?"

"Tell me if I get it wrong," she said, now standing beside him, hands gestured as though they could steady him. "You wanted the meltdown to ramp up the symptoms – his pedantry, his intelligence, adherence to logic, et cetera, et cetera, as it all comes to a head, in the form of full-on resistance to what's happening around him, because you thought it would make him stronger. As the magnetic field slams through his body and brain, it's less likely to take down all those things that make him unique if all those things are too damn strong to be taken down. Yes?"

"Yes."

"But I was wondering, wouldn't that just call attention to it? Wouldn't that just be like a lightning rod? A beacon, saying, 'hey, mess with these qualities! They're right here for the taking!'"

"Maybe… erm…"

"Isn't it possible that that would just make the Axiothe Field want to examine it, and tame it? Isn't that what it tried to do with the TARDIS' inner workings?"

The Doctor was silent for a moment, and still did not look at her. His eyes were either closed tightly, or fixed on the console.

After a few moments of contemplation, he said, "It seems as likely a scenario as any."

"So I'm wondering, what if we called attention to the very thing that we want the Axiothe Field to fix?"

"Martha, I love you, but get to the bloody point. I've had enough."

"Detonate while he's drawing."

The Doctor stood up straight, and his eyes grew wide. "That could work."

"Don't wave a big red autism flag at the Axiothe Field. Wave the flag of the thing we actually want _cured."_

"His autism might be at its most potent when he's having a meltdown," the Doctor said, still not looking at Martha, but staring beatifically, with the wheels turning, off into the distance behind her. "But his _power _is at its pinnacle when he's drawing… bending reality."

"Exactly. Can we try that first?"

Curtis got to his feet in less than two seconds, with a _thud_ against the metal grate. "Yes, I like that idea. Where are your art supplies?"

Without hesitation, the Doctor, having reverted to his usual form, said, "Right this way, folks," and strode toward the hallway.

He led them all to the supply room, where Martha had found the cello tape a couple of days earlier, and repaired the drawing Curtis had begun for Daniel Edge, but not finished the way he wanted.

In the myriad of different tools and implements from different planets occupying shelf after shelf of space in the TARDIS' supply room, the Doctor managed to extract a few sheets of white paper, and a box of pastels. Curtis sat down at the table, and began to work.

* * *

The Doctor and Martha took the next fifteen minutes to transfer the needed equipment to the supply room, where Curtis was now engulfed in his incredibly detailed drawing of the neighbourhood as seen from the roof of their council estate, having a lovely, sunny day.

Tim was pacing nervously, seemingly unable to leave his brother alone. "That's a great idea, mate – we can use some sunshine," he said to Curtis, a little too cheerfully. Then, to Martha he said, "He was complaining about the weather earlier… he can't abide too many cloudy days in a row. But then, who can, eh?"

There was now a glowing metal domed apparatus sitting on the table. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like an old-fashioned tin colander concealing a candle. Attached was a crown-like device that would sit on Curtis' head, and act as a probe.

"Is that like a miniature of what you built in the console room?" Tim asked.

"No, that would have taken much, much longer," the Doctor answered. "This is just a transmitter. It will communicate with the console and allow the energy to track down Curtis in here. That's it. It was pretty simple, actually."

All they had to do now was place the "crown" on Curtis' head, and… detonate.

He didn't seem to feel it when the heavy metal device encircled his head, and a yellow light came on the front.

"I'm going to take the advice you gave me earlier, Tim," the Doctor said. "I'm going to see if I can turn on the faucet gradually. We'll see how he interacts with the energy – and how his power interacts with it – before we… you know…"

"Detonate. I get it," Tim said.

The Doctor aimed the sonic screwdriver at the dome, and the light within it grew brighter. Then, it began to waft out through the little holes, and into the air around it. It seemed to touch the space, explore it for a few moments, before locking onto Curtis. It surrounded him gently, and for a few moments, it was as though he simply had an aura.

Then, it seemed to nestle in around his arms. It then spread out to his hands, then concentrated on his head.

"Can you feel anything, mate?" Tim asked, his voice nearly breaking.

"Shush," Curtis said.

Tim nodded, as though this could be confirmation that his brother was all right.

"Is it identifying his ability?" Martha asked. "Something about his hand drawing, and what's happening with his brain?"

"Erm… presumably so," the Doctor told her, without taking his eyes off Curtis. "I've never done this before."

The energy around Curtis' head began to twinkle. His longish hair stood up for a few seconds, then laid back down. Then it happened again. All the while, the man himself simply continued to draw.

"What's it doing now?" Tim asked, his voice rising.

"I'm thinking it's examining his head," the Doctor told him with a shrug. "Again, I've never done this."

The energy then began to flow, to everyone's surprise, out of the room and down the hall toward the console room.

"I'll follow it," Martha said. "Got your phone?"

"Yeah," the Doctor said, pulling her old razor from his pocket, and clutching it tightly.

She jogged out of the room, and to her relief, the energy went toward the front of the vessel, familiar areas to her, rather than into the inner-reaches of the TARDIS. And indeed, it arrived in the console room, and quickly went for the door, and through the wooden barrier.

Martha opened the door, and to her surprise, the energy was expanding, but simply hovering in a cloud outside the TARDIS.

The phone in her pocket rang. She answered it.

"What's it doing?" the Doctor asked.

"Just… hovering outside. There's a cloud about five feet outside and above the TARDIS, and that's where it stops."

"What's the weather like?"

"Pardon?"

"The weather. Is it a lovely sunny day, like in Curtis' drawing? Or grey like when the day began?"

"Oh, I see. It's sunny."

"It's witnessing his power. It's checking out what he can do. It's examined him, and now it's examining the qualities of the manifestations of his artwork."

"Whoa," Martha mused, thinking, under the circumstances, that this made perfect sense.

"If I'm right, then in a minute or so, it'll come back to the supply room."

And in twenty seconds, the stream of gold did just that.

"It's on its way back," Martha said. "See you in a mo'."

"No, stay where you are. I want to know what the weather does, as this thing unfolds," he said.

"Okay, you've got it."

After about a minute, she heard the Doctor say, "It's back."

"What's happening?"

"It's curling round Curtis. It's lost something… it's lost its sparkly quality somehow."

"What does that mean?"

"I dunno. But if I had to guess, I'd say it means that it's not examining anything anymore."

"Like the lights are off? It's at rest?"

"Maybe. And now it's just hovering…"

Curtis smudged some light orange and yellow sunlight against a blue sky, with his thumb, then made a few lighting accents to the buildings below.

"I'm finished," Curtis said to the Doctor.

"He's done with the drawing?" Martha asked. "Will this still work?"

"I reckon so," the Doctor said. "The Axiothe energy knows everything it needs to know now."

"What now?" Tim asked, frowning at the dull gold light.

"I think it's waiting," the Doctor said. "Its sparkles are gone – it's not doing anything now except maybe waiting for instructions."

"And what are _you_ waiting for, Doctor?" asked Curtis, calmly.

"Whoa," the Doctor said.

"What?" Martha and Tim asked, from different rooms, at the same time.

"The light on the front of the probe on Curtis' head just turned green. I didn't know it would do that."

"Does green mean 'go?'" Martha asked.

"Maybe. Except…," the Doctor muttered, tentatively. "Is it still a sunny day?"

"Yes," she answered.

"No sign of clouding up?"

"Not that I can see," she replied, walking out onto the roof, looking about. "It's beautiful out."

The Doctor sighed heavily. "Damn, I was hoping that the green light meant that the connection was severed, and his power was gone."

"I don't think so, Doctor. Not based on what I can see," Martha said, gently. "Sorry."

"Okay then. A green light is a green light. It means go. It means… do what you're going to do," he muttered to himself. "It doesn't want to mess with you, Curtis. It wants me to make the decision. You, rather. And you've decided."

"Yes."

"Then… allons-y," he said, with less conviction than Martha had ever heard him express with that phrase.

Martha heard the buzz of the sonic screwdriver through the phone.

Then a deafening bang, louder than she ever imagined it would be. She had been standing a hundred yards from it, and it still scared the life out of her.

She screamed when she heard it.

"Oh God, oh God…" she began to pant, but for the moment, she was stuck in place.

It was a true _detonation._

"Doctor?" she shouted into the phone, she knew, in vain. "Doctor, can you hear me?"

The line went dead.

Smoke began to drift into the console room from the corridor. It burned her throat a bit, and she coughed.

She cursed in a panic. Leaving the door open, she dashed over to the console, and dug underneath it in one of the compartments to see if she could find the filtering face masks she and the Doctor had used while working on one of the myriad devices related to Curtis' power.

Her mind raced. Memories of the last three weeks, the horror of now… love, fear, anger…

After the last debacle in Leeds, they began trying to build something that would allow the humanoid beings created by Curtis, who had been placed on other planets, to contact the Doctor. It was tricky, because "reality" for them was different than reality for us. Their sensibilities were different, their planets were distant, and they were reluctant to ask for help. It required welding and filing, both of which required facial protection for the TARDIS occupants. It had been hard work, but they had done it with earnestness, precision, and great care. It was the way the Doctor did everything.

Then, of course, over the past week, they had worked on the Axiothe Field, and refining the signal for Curtis and for Daniel Edge. The TARDIS console had smoked a bit in its grinding fervour to do what the Doctor asked, so they had worn the masks then, as well. At least, when there were toxins to be breathed. Again, care was in the air, as well, and the Doctor toiled with how to do the right thing, and how to help everyone come out the other side with their faculties intact.

Martha had toiled beside him all along, as she had always done. She acted as his right hand, but also as a sounding board, conscience, and companion.

And at some point in all of that, they had fallen in love.

Well, Martha had already been in love. But the Doctor had taken that final step and told the story that allowed her into his hearts. Days after that, they had secured their union, shutting out all doubt, by taking time away from the crisis at-hand to be together. As she rifled through the storage compartment, she couldn't help but let her mind touch those moments – hot, breathy, with tangled sheets, explosive pleasure, and hints of excited trepidation. There had been doubts as to whether or not making love at that moment had been the right thing to do, and there had been doubts about what had led them to it, but ultimately, she knew it had been right. It had felt good physically and emotionally, and now, she was so glad…

Because she wasn't sure what she would find when she went down the hall to the supply room.

The love, the memories, the relationship work they had done over the previous weeks… had it all been in vain, just so that the Doctor could be flattened in his own home, by a sentient power that forced his hand? Would he be the same when she got there?

She began to hyperventilate with alarm and fear. Smoke was filling up the console room.

"Oh my God, oh my God…" she chanted, coughing a few times again. "Come on! Masks! Where are you? Oh God…"

She located a mask with an N-95 filter, then found two more. It wasn't enough for all four of them, but the Doctor had a respiratory bypass.

She put on one mask and ran down the hall at top speed, with tears in her eyes.

She could see from thirty yards away, the walls of the supply room had been blown out. The Doctor lay with his upper body awkwardly thrown against the wall across the hall, unconscious.

Inside the room, Tim had been thrown to the side, and pieces of a shelf had collapsed on top of him.

Curtis she could not see at all.

But she wrangled her initial terror into check. She forced herself to go for the humans first, resisting the overwhelming urge to rescue and treat the Doctor now.

She took a deep breath, as cleanly as she could, told herself she was now in 'doctor' mode, and stepped into the destroyed supply room with dread in her heart.

* * *

**Haven't been hearing much from you guys... are you out there? I could REALLY use some feedback here! **

**One more chapter to go... I'll post sometime over the coming week.**

**Thank you so much for reading!**


	21. Chapter 21

**Well, friends, this is the final chapter! And what a weird journey it's been! I've had such affection for Curtis and Tim, and even for Stephanie, and Daniel Edge (but only because he was kinda fun to write for), so it's difficult to say goodbye. I wouldn't rule out further adventures with these folks, especially and off-world adventure, it is _au revoir._ After a final chapter and an epilogue, of course!**

**One last quick shout-out to Sheena, without whom Curtis could not exist as he is. :-)**

* * *

**At the end of the previous chapter, the Axiothe pulse had been released in the TARDIS' supply room, but it seemed to have blown out the walls, flattened the whole room, and anyone in it! The Doctor is unconscious, as is Tim, and Curtis is nowhere to be seen. Martha is panicking slightly, but she's also in doctor mode... and that's a good look on her.**

**This contains an epilogue as well, which wraps up what happens to most of the characters we have met... including some old favorites from a previous story. We also learn the truth of Curtis' pornographic drawing!Just a heads-up, not everyone gets a happy ending, but I think, in the end, you'll find it overall satisfying!**

**Okay, one last time, enjoy!**

* * *

TWENTY-ONE

Stepping through a door that had been widened threefold by the detonation of a magnetic pulse, Martha stumbled a bit over piles of debris that she recognised as pieces of shelf, table, office supplies, gardening utensils, and hundreds of other types of tools and implements from across the universe.

"Curtis?" she called out. "Curtis? Are you here? Are you conscious? Can you hear me? Curtis?"

He had been sitting at the supply table, last she had seen him, on the side opposite, facing the door. The "bomb," as it were, had been set on the table in front of him. He had almost definitely taken the brunt of the impact, given that the energy was focused on him. He had likely been thrown well clear of the scene, given that the Doctor had been propelled through the wall.

She felt a little sick, thinking of what she might find.

"Curtis?" she tried again, through the dissipating smoke. She was relieved to find that her panic, in this situation, only heightened her doctorly instinct. When the stakes were high, she was comfortable getting medical, rather than scared. "Curtis, if you can hear me, make a noise. Move. Anything!"

She moved off to her left, toward where a wall had been, where there was now a torn-up husk of a barrier, with empty space on the other side. From that vantage point, she could see the entire room, though it was rather large – larger than she had been aware of, and daunting. There was still a grey haze, but the apparatus was no longer creating smoke. It also hadn't been an explosion of fire, just pressure and energy and dust. That was a mercy.

She walked forward, deeper into the room, continuing to call Curtis' name. And then, twenty-or-so metres from where the table had been, she spied a grey and white trainer. Upon closer inspection, she could see that it was clearly attached to a leg.

She called out Curtis' name, but he was, at the very least, quite unconscious. She moved toward the trainer as quickly as she could, and knelt to throw off the debris. A plastic footstool had fallen on his head, so she threw it aside, and leaned down to verify that he was breathing normally. She put one of the filtering masks on him, as she had no idea what was in the dust in the air, then set about clearing away pieces of shelf. Cricket bats, a rubber hose, empty baskets, skeins of fabric, and one large bag of birdseed, were all piled on top of his person.

Thankfully, none of it appeared to have broken the skin; it was one of the few times she had seen Curtis without his red hoodie, and today he'd chosen a light blue tee-shirt, which was now torn, but not bloodied. She had already run her hands along the back of his head while putting on the mask, and had found no blood there either. She cleared away the area around him, and determined that he was not bleeding significantly through an injury to his back (if there was one).

"Curtis? It's Martha, can you hear me?" she asked, holding up his head awkwardly, trying to avoid certain pieces of detritus around his body.

She used one hand to open his right eye, then his left, inspecting his pupils. They were not unusually large nor of uneven sizes, so she'd have to wait for him to come round and ask questions before assessing properly for concussion. She elevated his head with some wadded up fabric, then turned to find Tim.

To her surprise, the Doctor was awake, upright, and stepping over pieces of the same type of rubbish to get to him.

"Oh, Doctor… stop, don't hurt yourself…" she said, fretfully, though it was hard to get to him quickly.

"I'm fine," he said. "The blast just rang my bell a bit."

"Rang your bell? Do you hear ringing?"

"No, Martha, it's just a figure of speech."

"Weak arms or legs? Nausea?"

"No, no. Come on, Dr. Jones, give me a little credit."

"How can you _not_ have concussion?"

"Time Lord. Glowy gold dust. Or possibly just good luck."

They now met up roughly where the table had been, and could see pieces of the magnetic pulse's transmitting apparatus lying about, blown to pieces.

"Let me see your pupils," she said, reaching up. He let her peel back his eyelids gently. She found nothing amiss. "They look fine, but… are pupils a good sign of concussion in a Time Lord?"

"Yes, and if they're fine, then I'm probably fine," he said. "Now, help me excavate Tim out of the rubble."

They knelt, and began to do the same as she had done for Curtis a few minutes before. Only, Tim began to moan and move slightly as they went.

"Tim? You in there?" the Doctor said. "If you can hear me, let me know."

Tim gave a thumbs-up.

"Are you hurt?" Martha asked, inspecting his head, and putting the last mask on him.

"Ugh," he groaned, trying to sit up. "Not sure yet. Nothing's jumping out at me…"

"I see no blood," she said.

This time it was the Doctor who checked for concussion. Tim, too, seemed fine, though both brothers would likely need to be observed for a day or two.

"What's happened? Where's Curtis?" he asked, as the Doctor took his pulse. "Is he all right?"

"Erm… over there. Still out. Unconscious," Martha told him, reluctantly.

"What?" Tim yelped, trying to stand quickly. He became dizzy and the Doctor protested, and eased him back down.

"We'll give him a few more minutes before we worry," Martha said. "I checked him out. He seems all right, just needs some time. You concentrate on yourself, for once, all right?"

Tim sighed heavily, and nodded. "I don't think I have a choice at the moment."

"Martha, you didn't happen to check the weather before you switched into crisis-mode and ran down the hall to save everyone?" the Doctor asked, knowing the answer already.

"Er, no," she said. "Weirdly, that wasn't part of my field training."

"Would you mind checking now?"

"Okay," she said. "I'll call you in a minute."

* * *

Curtis came round a few minutes later, and when he did, they had no way of knowing whether he was still autistic – he said he felt groggy, and his head hurt, but couldn't ascertain whether his way of thinking had changed. "That would be absurd," he told them, annoyed.

The Doctor reckoned it would take a day or two before he was unstuck from the blast enough to work out for sure whether he was "back to normal," or whether the Axiothe had changed him.

But one thing was certain: his power was gone. The Axiothe had done its job, and appeared to have interfered with the connection between Curtis and the Ifasma Galaxy. The sunny day over Leeds had gone grey. Moreover, the white tee-shirt that Curtis had rendered purple the previous day, had reverted to white.

For good measure, Curtis drew a quick portrait of his brother (which he had done many times before) with an apple in his hand… but an apple did not appear in Tim's hand.

"You're free, mate," Tim had said.

Curtis had nodded, but said nothing. He sat mostly motionless and stared at the wall as the Doctor, Martha, and Tim cleaned up the supply room.

Tim picked up the side panel of a bookshelf that had been beside the work table, and said, "Whoa! What's this?" with a smile on his face.

He bent and picked up the pornographic drawing that Daniel Edge had ripped apart, and Martha had taped back together.

"Ugh…" the Doctor groaned. "Good, now more people can see it."

"Who are they?" Tim asked, turning toward his brother, indicating the drawing.

"Marlene Dietrich and Gary Cooper," Curtis responded. "They had an affair in 1930. And they're both dead, so I figured drawing them in would be safe."

"What?" the Doctor asked, with shock. He moved across the room to inspect the drawing. The faces were unmistakable: two Hollywood legends in the throes of passion. "But…"

"Yeah," Martha sighed. "In all the commotion of the last couple of days, I guess I forgot to tell you… it's not us."

"You thought it was you?" Tim asked. "Why would you think… oh."

Martha and the Doctor broke eye-contact and moved pointedly away from each other.

Tim cleared his throat. "Okay, well… Curtis, do you want the drawing, or should we try to sell it on e-Bay?"

* * *

EPILOGUE

By midnight, the supply room had been "healed" by the TARDIS, and Martha stood in the middle of it, marvelling at the work of the great sentient ship.

"Amazing," she breathed. "Just like that."

"Well, not _just like that_, exactly," the Doctor said, stroking one of the walls. "The blast would have hurt her a bit – like a bee sting – and she'd have had to take a while to shake off being addled by it, not to mention giving us time to excavate and get out. But then… she healed."

"Doctor, what the hell happened?"

He sighed. "You know the dose of Axiothe energy needed to make a dent in the connection between Curtis' brain and the Ifasma Galaxy was pretty significant. The blast was always going to be big, but I reckon if we'd been in the console room, with more space, and the TARDIS' heart and consciousness in the vicinity for management, it wouldn't have been quite so, you know… blow-you-out-of-your-chair, send-you-flying-across-the-hall."

"So, it's because the space was confined."

He nodded. "It's a largeish room, but not like the console room. It doesn't have built-in expansion fields, plus it's got low ceilings, and lots _and lots_ of moveable rubbish lying about. I should've known. If I'd been thinking, I would've made Curtis move back to the console room, or at the very least, given the transmitter a bit of padding… an air-buffer… something."

"Well, it worked out for the best."

"Probably."

* * *

The Doctor and Martha spent two additional days in Leeds, ascertaining that neither of the Malmay brothers was in shock, neither had any head injuries, et cetera, but that one of them was still as pedantic, intelligent, detail-oriented, logical, and prickly as he had always been. But he was also just as talented as ever, and was now free to draw and create whatever he liked.

They left on a Wednesday morning with hugs and thanks, a week and a half after arriving to find out about the Daniel Edge debacle.

A quick checking up on beings that Curtis had created a month or two before, whom the Doctor had delivered to new homes on different planets, revealed that they had, unfortunately, ceased to exist.

"You can save the universe, but you can't save everyone in it," Martha reminded him, hearkening back to a conversation from days before. She took his hand, as he stood in the doorjamb of the TARDIS hovering. He stared down onto a house that had once been inhabited by a woman called Xanthavia.

"So much of the work we've done lately has gone to waste," the Doctor muttered.

"Well, maybe," she sighed. "But trying to rig up ways for Curtis' creations to get in touch with us was a good thing, because it got us talking. Without that, we wouldn't be us. What we are today."

He smiled at her, and leaned down for a kiss. "Indeed," he said. "We'd likely still be circling each other like caged tigers, eh?"

"So, thank heaven for Curtis."

"Absolutely," he said, with a bright, proud smile.

"Funny, for a day or so, I thought that without Curtis' drawing, I wouldn't have had the wherewithal to get you into bed that first time," she said, looking at him wryly. "Turns out, it was just me."

He nodded. "We must've just known that the moment was right. Or rather, you did. I was, sadly, still being a blunt instrument at that point. Not that it took a lot to convince me."

"See? Even shackled to responsibility, you managed to let your guard down and…"

"…and?"

"And…"

"Go ahead and say it," he encouraged.

"And fall in love?"

He smiled again. "Yes. I did manage. I suppose it can be done. You knew that the responsibility had to be set aside in order to tend to each other. And that was you, and no-one else, Martha Jones. You, in your infinite wisdom and capacity for love… not some cosmic happenstance. Just you."

The Doctor shut the door to the TARDIS, and again, their lips met. He was still properly upset over the loss of Curtis' humanoid (and dragon) creations, but ultimately, the universe was safe for the next few minutes, so the two of them decided to take another slightly ill-timed interval to be together.

* * *

Late the next day, just after dinner, Martha received a text message. She wandered into the sitting room with two cups of tea, and sat down, then pulled the phone from her pocket.

"Who is it?" the Doctor asked, picking up a mug, and sipping.

"Stephanie," she answered. "It's a group text with Curtis and Tim. _This is me."_

"Pardon?"

"_This is me,_" she repeated. "It's what the text says, and there's a link."

The Doctor moved closer, and peered over her shoulder. "Let's see."

A second later, another text came in. "Well, londongirl1988 is me. Not the other."

The link led to Carrie's List, where myriad companies providing myriad different services have postings, testimonials, comments, and the like, so that the consumer can make an informed decision. The main heading was "Miscellany," the entry was from a user called DoBea69, and the posting was entitled, "Bloke In Leeds Who Does Favours."

"Yikes," Martha said. "A week ago, Stephanie said she sort of had to go digging to find anything about Curtis on Carrie's List – he was mentioned in the comments under a private investigator. Now he's got his own entry?"

"Well, mercifully, it doesn't list his name," the Doctor muttered.

What followed was a short description of what Curtis was able to do – mysteriously make small or medium-sized wishes come true for not much money. This DoBea character offered to put the inquirer in touch with the "Bloke In Leeds," for a finder's fee.

"Who is this?" Martha asked.

"No idea," the Doctor answered. "Let's see what londongirl1988 has to say."

They scrolled down, and amidst a bunch of comments that said things like, "Is this for real?" and "How much does he charge?" there was a comment, seemingly from Stephanie, trying to remain anonymous, saying, "This is a joke. I spent the last few days in Leeds, and asked about– people snickered at me, laughed at me outright, or didn't know what I was talking about. After two days straight of this rubbish I was forced to conclude that someone made up for fun, or as a way to get people to come to Leeds for some reason, and the whole town is having a laugh at our expense. Don't waste your time."

"Ha!" Martha exclaimed. "She's debunking Curtis!"

"Wish I'd thought of that," the Doctor said. "We could've saved ourselves a lot of trouble."

"Nah," she said, putting her phone down. "We did the right thing. Sooner or later, someone would've found him again, or he wouldn't have been able to resist helping someone."

"Very probably true."

"Besides, if we were looking for an easy way out, we could've just suggested that Curtis draw himself free. Free of scrutiny, free of his power… one of the two, or both."

The Doctor looked at her with wide eyes, for long enough that she felt uncomfortable. At last he said, "Let's just pretend that wouldn't work."

She chuckled. "I'm sure that something like that would cause some sort of folding-over effect, that would eventually turn his power inside out and cause problems in the energy around Curtis. Or something."

"Actually," the Doctor mused. "You might be right."

"So, we did the right thing. You did. You and Curtis."

The Doctor smiled softly, and patted her knee in thanks, as he sipped his tea.

They watched a film, and over the next two hours, more texts came in.

"This one is from Curtis," Martha reported. "_I'm RedHood83 and Tim is BeardedManABC."_

The Doctor laughed. "They're all debunking!"

They clicked on the link to Carrie's List again, and scrolled down the comments, finding RedHood83's comment first. "This guy is a fraud. I told him I needed new brakes for my car, which I couldn't afford to buy – reckoned this would be cheaper. I paid my finder's fee, and my regular fee, and I just waited around for something to happen… nothing. Nada. Next time I drove my car, I was almost in an accident! When I called the number he'd given me, it was disconnected. This is a criminal who uses burner mobile phones, lots of hype, and wants to take your money. I wouldn't be surprised if londongirl1988 is correct, and that it's just a big city-wide joke. This. Is. Not. Real."

"Wow," Martha said.

"Wait, why would Tim use a screen name like BeardedMan?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Wishful thinking? Decoy?"

"Read his."

"Leeds resident here: this is absolutely a local joke. We laugh about it in pubs. There's even a little nod to it in the newest commercials from the tourism office! People – don't come to Leeds thinking there's a genie here. He doesn't exist."

Over the next few days, Martha received a dozen more texts from Stephanie, Tim, and Curtis, with new screen names. Apparently, the three of them were having a great time debunking Curtis using different monikers. There were a number of replies from people insisting they'd met him, seen him in action, and had got what they asked for, but one of the "debunkers" would ask them, "How much is he paying you? I hope you can sleep at night, misleading needy people! You're just a much of a fraud as the 'Bloke in Leeds'."

The most vehement "seller" of the concept of the Bloke In Leeds was DoBea69, who did the initial posting. Tim and Curtis especially had a field day taking that guy down, and indeed, they announced via text that they knew exactly who he was – a loser from their estate who had asked for too many big favours, and had been blacklisted by the Malmays.

"I suppose after all we've been through, it shouldn't surprise me that some arse is trying to capitalise on Curtis' power," Martha said, settling into the sofa, a couple of days after leaving Leeds.

"Yep. Some people will do anything to be close to power," the Doctor said.

"Good thing Curtis doesn't exist," she lilted.

"Yeah. Good thing," he replied, with a smirk.

* * *

**And that's all, folks! Drop me a line, leave a review, let me know what you think. Even if you've never done so before, I'd love to hear from you!**

**Hope you enjoyed the story - thanks so very much for reading it!**


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